Dark Phoenix
by DiamondPhoenix
Summary: ON HOLD Harry takes a path he never thought he would walk. To live his life, he must embrace his darkest nature. But exceptional weapons makes his path a dangerous one to tread. A Dark!Harry, but Lightsided, fic.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer : I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N : Updated 15-05-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Prologue:

"CRUCIO!"

The fat teenage boy writhed on the floor, screaming his agony. This was pain, pain beyond imagination, beyond comprehension. Every single nerve was burning. It seemed as if his flesh was being ripped apart, layer by layer, and his bones shattered in a million fragments over and over again. And yet, it was worse than even that.

The teenager's parents were watching, staring helplessly as their son was subjected to the worst torture ever conceived. The father was whimpering in fear, little squeaky noises drowned by the hysterical crying of his wife and the soul-wrenching screaming of their teenager.

The wizard was laughing, a cold heartless laugh quite unlike his usual one. Oh, but he was enjoying this. The pain, the screams and the sweet dark power of the curse flowing through his veins… It was delicious, exquisite, ecstatic and utterly overwhelming, a Dark mistress giving him the deepest pleasures imaginable. It was intoxicating, this power, and this was what he was made for. This was what he had been born for. He needed this just as much as breathing.

He lifted the curse off the boy. He didn't want him to go insane just yet. There were still so many ways to give him pain, each more fun than the last. The teen stayed on the ground, his ragged breathing and constant twitching the only signs he was still among the living. His sanity was almost destroyed and he was barely aware of his surroundings.

"What should I do next, hmmm?" the wizard asked the air. "Oh! I know. I believe you are going to love this. I know I will!" He raised his wand and pointed it at the sobbing woman.

"IMPERIO!"

A peaceful expression took over her features. Obeying the seductive voice in her mind, she stood up and went to the kitchen, coming back moments later with the biggest and sharpest knife she had found. She knelt beside her son who was too weak from the Cruciatus curse to do anything more than twitch. The woman grabbed her son's foot and single-mindedly started cutting it off.

"NO!" the husband exclaimed, "Petunia, what are you doing? Stop it! Don't hurt Dudley!"

The wizard just laughed, enjoying the father's horrified expression just as much as the sight of the blood gushing out of the ever-widening wound. She had already reached the bone and her knife was unable to cut through. The wizard ordered her to start on the other foot.

Unfortunately, already weakened from the earlier curse, the loss of blood quickly became fatal to the boy. His breathing stopped in a rasping exhalation and his eyes dulled.

The wizard lifted the curse upon the woman. Upon seeing the mangled body of her son and knowing she was the one who did this to him, she turned the knife on herself and plunged it through her heart.

The wizard laughed again. Oh! this was beautiful! This was delicious!

He turned to the man. A man he hated. A man he was going to enjoy seeing dead. He channelled his hate and said the incantation.

"AVADA KEDAVRA"

Green light flashed and without further ceremony the man slumped over dead.

Harry Potter woke up sweating in his bed in 4 Privet Drive.

He heard his uncle Vernon snoring and his cousin Dudley mumbling in his sleep, both alive and resting in their rooms. Obviously, his aunt Petunia was alive as well.

The dream he just had was definitely disturbing. What was more disturbing was that it wasn't the first time he had had it. It wasn't the first time he had _enjoyed_ it.

What did it mean? Why was he dreaming this, dreaming he was torturing his relatives and enjoying it like this was what he was born for?

Was Voldemort sending him dreams? Why would he do that? What was he getting out of it? It didn't make any sense. Besides, Voldemort had never seen his relatives, had he?

Another possibility crossed his mind, making his breath quicken.

What if this wasn't the influence of the Dark Lord? Was he becoming dark?


	2. Breaking Perceptions

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 15-05-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 1: Breaking Perceptions

It was late afternoon in Surrey and Harry was in his room reading "A Guide to the Mind Arts". It was a gift his friend Hermione had sent him at the beginning of the summer holidays to help him learn Occlumency. He had actually finished reading the chapters on Occlumency and progressed to Legilimency. It wasn't long before Harry realised he was gifted in the mind arts and that Snape's horrendous teaching methods were the reason of his failure. He had started by practising on his relatives, and had easily managed to read them, but that hadn't been the best of experiences. He shuddered at the memory.

The book explained that while the Legilimens spell, an aggressive and powerful attack on the mind, could be traced, the art of Legilimency, a much more subtle inquisition, was undetectable save by a practised occlumens. Basically, that meant he could practise all he wanted with no worry from the ministry. He just wished he had someone more challenging than Dudley.

Harry had made it his mission to learn every bit of magic he could get his hands on, as well as adding a little physical training to the mix. If he was supposed to bring down the darkest wizard in a century, he might as well prepare himself. Legilimency was something both Voldemort and Dumbledore practised, so it certainly wasn't a waste of time. Besides, it did keep his mind off other things, like the loss of Sirius... and those ever-disturbing dreams...

The dreams were really baffling him. He was practising Occlumency before sleeping and he was certain his mind was well-shielded from outside influence, so the dreams weren't from Voldemort. Or at least, they shouldn't be. Even more unsettling was that the more he had them, the more he seemed to assimilate them, admitting to himself that yes, a part of him would enjoy torturing his relatives. In fact, what was the most disturbing was that they _didn't_ disturb him anymore. Why was he getting _used_ to them?

No answers seemed to be forthcoming so Harry pushed those thoughts away and returned to his reading.

DPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDP

After his daily run around the neighbourhood, Harry opened the front door of number four, Privet Drive to find his uncle in a towering mood. His face was a vivid shade of purple and he was ranting madly, not a good sign at all. Seeing his favourite means of venting frustration arrive, Vernon marched towards Harry.

The instant Harry locked eyes with him he knew what had put his uncle in a murdering state. One of the newest employees of the drilling company had been promoted and had taken the position Vernon had been pursuing.

Not wanting to be used as a punching bag again, Harry tried to dodge him and slip up the stairs. Unfortunately, that didn't work.

"BOY! Where do you think your going?" bellowed Vernon,

Harry froze in the hall, his uncle stomping towards him. Harry stared at him straight in the eye and felt something in him break. He wasn't going to back down. Not this time. He was tired of being the scapegoat, tired of being weak, tired of trying to be what others wanted him to be. He had had enough of being treated like a child who couldn't do anything right. From now on he was going to stand up for himself and make his own decisions, Voldemort and Dumbledore be damned, and especially, Vernon Dursley be damned.

"Answer the damn question, you freak!" Vernon said, spitting on Harry as he did so.

Harry had actually grown taller than his uncle, a fact which surprised him and strengthened his resolve. Their eyes were locked and it wasn't very hard for Harry to know exactly who had caused this temper. He looked at Vernon defiantly:

"Shut up, Dursley. It isn't my fault if Karl Mathews is more qualified for vice-president than you are." Vernon was clearly taken aback.

"What... how... you dare... speak..." Too enraged to speak coherently, he gave up and brought his hand up aiming to backhand Harry across the face.

Reflexively, Harry brought up his hand to protect himself. He felt his whole arm becoming hot half a second before his forearm made contact with his uncle's with a loud crunching noise. There was silence for a moment, and then Vernon howled in pain.

Harry looked at his arm. There was a slight pain, and he probably would have a bruise, but Vernon's thick bones were clearly snapped in two.

Petunia's screams joined her husband's while Dudley stared stupidly. Harry just stayed there, trying to figure out how in the world he, runty underfed Harry Potter, had managed to break his beefy uncle's arm.

At last, Petunia gathered her wits enough to call an ambulance. Fifteen minutes later, Harry was alone in the house, his relatives all gone to the hospital. At that moment, Harry realised he did not feel guilty about breaking his uncle's bones at all. In fact, if he was totally honest with himself, he had to admit he had enjoyed it...

...Just like in his dreams. But this wasn't a dream, this was real. Why didn't he feel just a bit guilty? This wasn't like him. Then again, this was only an arm, nothing like what he dreamed about. It wasn't torture, it was self-defence. And Harry had a right to enjoy giving his uncle pain after all he had gone through because of him.

If only he had known what a little running around could do, he would have started long ago. And if this little exercise could do this much difference, Harry was definitely going to take his training up a notch or two...

_Watch out, people_, Harry thought,_ you are now dealing with a whole new Harry Potter. And he's ready to kick ass._


	3. Voldemort's Turnaround

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 17-05-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 2: Voldemort's Turn-around

The last few days had been utterly hilarious.

Harry's relatives had avoided Harry at all costs. They were obviously afraid of him. Not just afraid: terrified. And though it could be annoying at times, Harry was having a better time than usual. The fact that they were avoiding made access to food a lot easier and chores non-existent. Harry used his new free time reading all the magic books in his possession, learning as much as he could, and training physically.

He had no idea what had happened when Vernon had hit him. So he wasn't going to count on it anytime soon.

His training had actually progressed quickly, too quickly for it to be normal. "Then again," Harry thought, "when have I ever been normal?" Something was happening to him, that much he was sure. The question was, was it magical or just the fact that his genes were calling for a growth spurt and he had, for once, the food to back it up? Then again, it could be a mix of both. He was a wizard after all, and it was logical that magic should grow with age as well.

The incident with Vernon also had another side-effect. Harry realised that some people respond very well to threats. He had spent years trying to avoid his relatives' wrath by obedience and subservience only to be locked in a cupboard and starved, occasionally beaten. The one time he actually stands up to his uncle, he ends up with more freedom than he ever had.

There were other incidents when the Dursleys proved themselves responsive to threats. When Harry had received his Hogwarts letter, Vernon had given Harry Dudley's second bedroom. And the threat of Sirius had helped his situation somewhat. It wasn't very fair to use fear against someone, Harry realised, but Harry had had enough of fair. He had an advantage and he didn't intend to lose it.

DPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDP

One night, a few days before his birthday, Harry was troubled. His relatives had been restless during the day, as if they were planning something. They kept glaring at him when he wasn't looking, though they didn't do anything else. Thinking he would figure out this mystery another day, Harry fell asleep forgetting to strengthen his Occlumency shields… The proved to be a most enlightening experience…

For the first time in weeks, Harry didn't dream of torturing his relatives. When he became aware of himself, he was sitting in a dark room luxuriously furnished. He was watching a fire, drinking some sort of beverage. Harry knew he was asleep and dreaming, but even though it was a dream, something was obviously not right.

Then it clicked. This was Voldemort sitting in a chair and Harry was in his mind! Harry tried to escape silently (if silence and noise were possible in a mind).

"Good evening, Potter." The voice resonated in a place without matter, making the serpentine voice even more unsettling than usual. "I have been trying to contact you for quite a while now."

Damn! Voldemort knew he was there. Harry struggled to wake up.

"Wait, my dear Harry. I only wish to speak with you."

Harry as stunned enough to stop thrashing against the immaterial bounds. Since when did Voldemort call him "dear"? And wanted to talk, not kill? Curiosity won over and Harry stayed still, wary.

"And what would you want to speak of with me, Tom?" Harry said the last word with a sneer. Infuriating Voldemort really was quite a bit of fun, and for anyone else, likely to be deadly.

To his astonishment, Voldemort only chuckled. Now Harry was really disconcerted. Voldemort, the insane and sadistic Dark Lord, had a sense of humour?

"If anyone earned the right to call me by my birth name, it would be you, Harry. No one ever escaped my wrath four times, five if you count my diary…" This was getting worse. Voldemort complimenting the Boy-Who-Lived? _Is the world still turning 'cause something not right here_, Harry thought to himself.

Voldemort heard the thought though. "Don't worry, Harry. The world is still turning and I believe you did earn a compliment or two. And before you ask, we share a powerful mind link, so it is easy to read superficial thoughts."

Harry strengthened his shields as much as he could without breaking the connection. This conversation, however unsettling, was certainly interesting.

"Okay, Tom, you're really freaking me out. We've been speaking for over five minutes and not only have you not insulted me, you actually praised me and you chuckled." Voldemort just chuckled again. "I think you're trying to make me crazy" Harry continued, "I think I prefer you trying to kill me. It's less disturbing."

"No, no, I'm not trying to drive you insane. An insane Harry Potter is the last thing I desire."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

"I want to make an offer."

"An offer, right," Harry was really starting to believe he was in twilight zone. "And what offer would the Dark Lord make to the cause of his downfall? To the teen that has made him look a fool by escaping his grip again and again?"

"It is very simple, Harry. I want you to join me." A very long mental silence followed.

"WHAT? Are you completely mad? Yes of course you are, you're the psychotic Dark Lord. You killed my parents, Cedric and one of your followers killed my Godfather. I won't even mention the fact that you've been trying to kill me for over fifteen years. What in hell makes you think I would want to join you?"

"The fact, Harry, that I have been in your head. When I possessed you, I learned more about you than anyone will ever know. I know how you think. I know who you are, like no one else cares to know. Therefore, I know I can give you what you want."

"If you think I want to become a Death Eater, you know nothing. I will never be slave; I would die before that happened."

"You misunderstand me. I do not wish for you to be my servant. I want you to be an ally, an equal…"

TBC


	4. Voldie's Arguments

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 17-05-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 3: Voldie's Arguments

Harry was gobsmacked. All his thought processes were completely jammed. He could even begin on the path to comprehension. All his beliefs were being shattered. He was seriously considering laughing himself to death and checking if Hell had suddenly frozen over.

Voldemort was unfazed, and continued as if he was expecting this. Well he had been expecting this, and had actually prepared excellent arguments. He was a Slytherin, and he was fully set on exploiting Harry's speechlessness.

"Harry, I will not lie to you again. I do not know how to bring back the dead yet. Therefore, I will not promise to bring back your parents. However, I can promise this: with me, you can be yourself. I have said it before; I know a lot about you, Harry, more than you think. You are undeniably trapped with the Boy-Who-Lived image. People around you judge you without knowing you. They listen to the media, their opinion of you going from Golden Boy to raving lunatic in a matter of hours. I do not believe such nonsense. Like you, I hate the media, and understand the loathing you have for your own fame. In my circle, a person is judged based on achievements. I must admit, Harry, your achievements have already made me admire you, as well as your bravery and cunning.

"I know what you must be thinking at this point and I must disagree. No matter how loyal your friends are to you, they have been and will be swayed by your image as well as their own jealousy. It has happened before; it will probably happen again, no matter how strong your friendship. It is human nature, as we call it.

"As for Dumbledore, I hate to shatter your illusions, well to be honest I don't hate it at all, but you must realise the Old Fool is using you. He has been manipulating you ever since he gained knowledge of the prophecy. I do not know all its contents yet, you have protected that intelligence well, but it is obvious that he is using you and your unwanted fame as an icon to rally forces to the Light. He is trying to make you believe you must save everyone, trying to make you in the hero you do not wish to be.

"Remember, Harry, he gave you the means to confront me for the Philosopher's Stone instead of protecting it himself. Do you really believe a wizard as powerful as he had not detected my dark essence residing in Quirrell? He was setting it up so that it was you, and no one else, who would have to face me and thwart my plans in obtaining the Stone. His bird, the phoenix, could have spirited Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets anytime, yet he let you face a full-grown Basilisk at twelve with only a sword. I saw in your mind glimpses of what happened during your Third year as well. Don't you think Dumbledore could have used the Time-Turner himself instead of sending two half-trained wizards? Another way to shape you into the Wizarding Worlds Saviour. Finally as you recall, Dumbledore was not opposed to you participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He actually managed to persuade the other judges into giving you more points because you tried to save the other victims! The point I'm trying to make is that Dumbledore is causing you to feel as if it is your duty to save everyone. No wonder I easily coerced you into the Department of Mysteries with the image of your Godfather. You have been taught you are supposed to save the entire world. Stop feeling guilty about those deaths, Harry. No one can save everybody and you certainly did not cause those deaths. It was the result of the Old Fool's manipulation and my attempt to gain information. Yes, I do take the blame for your Godfather's death.

"Dumbledore's actions, on the other hand, are most hypocritical. He makes you into this self-sacrificing hero, yet he always keeps you in the dark with his plans and has yet to give you weapons. All the offensive magic you know, you had to find out on your own.

"This is what I am offering you. I can train you, give you weapons. I can give you the power of knowledge. I can also give you acceptance and recognition, something I know you crave. And don't worry; I will not oblige you to join me, per se. If you wish to simply stay out of the war entirely, I would still give you what I can, knowledge and sanctuary."

Voldemort paused there, giving Harry time to mull over what had just been said. His brain cells had finally decided to cooperate again, and he was thinking furiously. What the hell did Voldemort want? He was hoping to turn Harry to Darkness that much was obvious, but he should know that it wouldn't be that easy.

Then it clicked. The prophecy. Voldemort had always failed to kill Harry before, so he was hoping to protect himself from the prophecy by befriending Harry, if befriending could be the term used. All Voldemort knew was that Harry was "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord". He was hoping to save his own ass with this bold move. Fascinating.

"You're trying to protect yourself from the prophecy, aren't you? Of course, it's obvious. But then, if I, by any chance, decide to take your offer, how do you know I won't turn around and kill you first chance I get!"

"Ah, quick you are, Harry. Indeed, you figure my motives well, although I admit I do hope you will help me with my mission in time. Now to answer your question, even though I am notoriously hard to destroy, I would request that you go through a Loyalty Spell. It is a very simple but very strong spell that will only, and I insist only, keep two parties from harming each other. No bindings to obey or anything else. This way, neither of us could harm the other. It is, I believe, a faire trade-off."

"I see," cautiously answered Harry, "It would be a fair trade-off, as you say, except for the fact that, for very obvious reasons, I do not trust you. I do not trust you to have told me everything about this spell and I would be sincerely disappointed if you didn't have a trick up your sleeve. And that spell, I believe, would not protect my friends. No deal, Voldemort."

"I guess I was a little too optimistic. In that case, I will leave you for now, but first, let me say this: I was and still am completely honest with you. There is no trick to the Loyalty Spell, and if you asked, I would refrain from killing your friends unless they directly stood in my way. My offer still stands, Harry, I suggest you think about it. If you change your mind, you can find me in Little Hangleton."

With those words, Voldemort pushed Harry out of his mind. He was satisfied. His discussion went better than he believed. Maybe this would work out. It had too, he was getting desperate. Five times! Five times the boy had survived only lightly wounded at worse! If only he could turn the boy from a nuisance to an associate of some kind...

"The seeds have been planted and watered," he whispered, "All I can do now is wait and see if the tree grows."

TBC


	5. Fiery Aftermath

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 17-05-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 4: Fiery Aftermath

Harry was doing his morning run. He had woken up with a lot of pent up energy, but he told himself that was just because of the emotional state he was in. The conversation he had had with Voldemort had done quite a number on him. So what better way to get rid of restlessness and clear his mind than exercise? He quickly dressed, stored his wand in his back pocket and set out.

He was... perturbed. It would be a lie to say he wasn't tempted by what the Dark Lord had offered him. However, Harry knew that, being a Slytherin, Voldemort had a way to make words say exactly what one wanted to hear. Harry had to keep reminding himself of whom and what Voldemort really was and what he did for enjoyment.

The irony was, if he was tutored by one of the most powerful wizards of the century, then destroying Voldemort would be so much easier. What was that Loyalty Spell exactly? He'd ask Hermione, but owl post wasn't safe enough for that kind of correspondence and a question like that was bound to arouse suspicion within the Order. Harry knew better than to trust Voldemort blindly, but if he knew...

Harry stopped at the park for a drink from the fountain. He noticed a movie poster on the gate. He remembered Dudley speaking about it at the beginning of the summer, something about a guy infiltrating the bad guy's group and taking it down from the inside. Dudley had then proceeded to ask for the matching video game. "And of course," Harry thought bitterly, "Diddykins always gets what he wants!" Harry threw a scathing look at the poster and turned around.

And then he abruptly stopped, and turned back to the poster.

Could this work? Could this be the answer? But most of all, could he pull it off? Could he stand the torture, the lies, the Darkness and deceive the Dark Lord himself to bring him down from the inside?

He was confident enough that his Occlumency was up for the challenge. The conversation with Voldemort had been a fluke, it wouldn't happen again. Even then, Harry had managed to keep his mind closed, letting only his foremost thoughts project through. It would be a reasonable risk, he thought.

As for the lies, he could do it. It would take some work, but he could become more cunning and deceitful. The hat did want to put him in Slytherin after all, so he must have some talents. It was time he accepted that part of himself and used those tools without guilt.

Watching torture, even participating maybe... that would be hard. It would probably be harder to watch than to be victim to it. Then again, he had been watching himself torture his relatives on a nightly basis all summer. This was war and he was smack in the middle of it; he was going to see gruesome sights no matter what the circumstances. He didn't even have to look for a battle: the battle was guaranteed to come to him whatever he did. He might as well go to it on his own terms.

Voldemort had been right about Dumbledore making him into a tool. Harry was honest enough to admit he had been used. However, while still being mad about his life being controlled, he understood Dumbledore had reasons to act the way he did. He wasn't forgiving him, and even less agreeing. He was being indulgent.

What had hit the hardest about Voldemort's little diatribe was the blow to his _people-saving thing_. Yes he had it, and look where it had gotten him. And wallowing in guilt because he didn't save everyone was definitely counter-productive. It would be better to use his past experiences to make him stronger. He was going to honour the memory of his fallen parents and Godfather, as well as Cedric, by bringing down Voldemort whatever the price to him.

And what would the price be, exactly? A childhood? _Yeah right, as if I ever had one._ A long life? That was uncertain at best. His innocence? He barely had scraps of that to begin with. He was already destined to be a murderer, either by killing Voldemort directly or, indirectly, by not doing so. His life was shit already; he wasn't losing anything by doing so. Better him than someone who had a chance at leading a decent life. The only decent thing his life was his friends, and he wasn't sacrificing them by doing this, he was trying to save them. Yes, he probably would lose their friendship, but better that than them losing their life, or worse.

Harry headed back to the Dursley's house. He was feeling better than he had in months. He actually had a plan. Yes, it was a long shot, and still quite rough, but he was going to work on that. No plan survived the first encounter with the enemy anyway. Voldemort had just presented him with a one of a kind opportunity and he was going to milk it for all it's worth. He had to figure out a way to research that Loyalty Spell. That was the biggest obstacle to his plan. It wasn't that it could keep Harry and Voldemort from killing each other: the prophecy made sure of that. Harry just wanted to be certain there weren't any loopholes Voldemort could take advantage of.

When Harry arrived at four, Privet Drive, Harry noticed something strange. There was smoke coming from the backyard. Instead of going in the front door, Harry opened the small gate on the side of the house and headed towards the source of the smoke to investigate.

What he found made his heart stop.

There was a bonfire in the middle of the yard with his aunt, uncle and cousin around it. But that isn't what made his blood boil.

It was what they were using to fuel the fire.

His trunk had been emptied and its whole contents were ablaze. All his clothes, his books, absolutely everything he owned. Everything was burning. His uncle and cousin were laughing riotously though his aunt was strangely subdued. But Harry didn't register that fact. He was busy watching his uncle grab Hedwig's cage, with his snowy owl inside, and throwing it into the fire.

Harry reached out with his hand as if he was trying to catch the cage before it fell in the bonfire, even though he was too far to even hope. There was a loud shout of "NO!" and against all odds, the cage stopped just before it was licked by the flames. In the same breath, the cage completely disintegrated letting a panicked Hedwig fly away to safety and the fire was snuffed out like a candle.

There was a long moment where Harry glared murderously at the Dursleys and the Dursleys stared disbelievingly back. Then Dudley squealed in fear and ran into the house followed shortly by his parents.

Harry looked at what remained of his belongings. Among carbonized clothes he recognized a few books, a piece of the Marauder's Map, as well as the cover of his picture book. That loss of those two items hit him hard. He had so little left of his parents! How dare they destroy them!

Fury flared in him like never before. He could feel his magic responding to it and did nothing to stop it. He was murderous and his magic was more and more lethal with every moment. Hedwig was saved, which was a small comfort, but it did nothing to quell the wrath he was feeling.

Even then, he hadn't lost all his thinking capabilities. He remembered having hidden his invisibility cloak, his Gringotts key, and what was left of his pocket money under the floorboards in his room.

The craze he was in made the time flow in a strange fashion. He only vaguely remembered the door blasting off its hinges to let him in the house and he was already prying up the floorboards to access the only items he had left. He stored his cloak under his shirt and stashed his money in his pocket. He turned back to leave the room and there he was met with a strange sight.

The place where he had put his hand to open the door was blackened as if it was touched with a red-hot poker in the shape of a hand. The moment Harry touched the darkened spot, his hand lit up with fire. The fire quickly spread to the surrounding area of the door. Harry couldn't even feel the heat of the flames. Obviously, it was his magic that was causing this.

With a maniacal grin, Harry encouraged the power and let it loose. On the way out of the house, he let his hands drag on the walls setting everything aflame. _If the Dursleys like fire so much,_ he thought, _they will really enjoy this one!_

It was not long before Harry reached the street. He raised his right arm, calling for the Knight Bus. Still in a dangerous daze, though his hands had stopped inflaming everything, he absently paid the fee to the conductor. He quickly made his way to a chair in the back. He looked outside where the Dursley house was quickly becoming an impressive brazier.

He saw the Dursleys weren't outside yet, at least not up front.

More importantly, he realised he didn't care whether he had killed them or not.

The Knight Bus disappeared hurriedly before anyone noticed the purple bus.

TBC


	6. Secrets and Revelations

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 5: Revelations and Secrets

When Harry arrived at Diagon Alley, he headed directly to Gringotts. It was still pretty early, so there weren't many customers. Despite that fact, every single booth had a goblin behind it. Telling himself it was that obviously, Goblins were workaholics, Harry proceeded to a booth.

"I'd like to make a withdrawal," Harry told the Goblin.

"Do you have your key, Mr. Potter?" replied the Goblin. Obviously, Gringotts had some sort of identification charms. Unless it was just the fact that Harry's picture was in the Daily Prophet ever other day. That was problem. He had to be able to shop without being recognized.

Putting that off to solve later, Harry fished out his key from his Gringotts bag. He always used the same bag and it had a special hidden pocket for his key. He handed it over to the Goblin who examined it carefully.

"Very well. I'll have someone escort you to your vault. It also pleases me to tell you that the paperwork for your inheritance has been taken care of by Albus Dumbledore."

"Huh? What inheritance?"

"Sirius Black. He specified in his will that you were the heir to his possessions. Of course, you do not have access to them until your seventeenth birthday."

Harry was stunned at first, then enraged. If he needed proof of Dumbledore's manipulations, he had it now. Not only did he put his crooked nose in Harry's business, he had never even informed him. Probably thought he was "too young".

"So," he addressed the Goblin, "I don't have access to anything?"

"You do not have access to the Potter and to the Black Family Vaults as long as you are underage. The multiple estates you possess are in the hands of Headmaster Dumbledore who is acting regent. However, you have unlimited access to your trust fund," answered the Goblin helpfully.

This was even worse than he had imagined. That he hadn't been told of Sirius Black's will could pass. His death was still recent and it _was_ a touchy subject. But that all these years he had been kept ignorant of what belonged to him! That was too much!

"Ah, there is something else you have access to," the Goblin interrupted his internal rant. "Sirius Black clearly requested that you be immediately given his motorcycle. If you wish to have it, I can have it brought here while you go to your vault."

"Yes, I'd like that." Harry replied neutrally. A motorcycle? Sirius had a motorcycle? Brilliant! _That will certainly help me get around_, he thought,_ The Knight Bus is too risky and I probably already have the Ministry of Magic after me for the magic I did at the Dursleys. I just hope I can stay a step ahead of them_.

The ride to his vault was as uneventful as a roller coaster ride could be. Harry filled his bag generously; he had quite a few things to buy. He returned to the lobby where he was met with a sight that was really out of place.

A huge motorbike all shined up.

It was so big, Hagrid could probably ride it. (_wink_)

After a moment of staring disbelievingly at his new means of transportation, Harry managed to close his mouth. He thanked the Goblin, who looked at him strangely, and left the building with his new "toy".

Back in the street, he realised the motorcycle would make his shopping quite a bit more difficult. And he still needed to find a disguise. He had Death Eaters, the Ministry of Magic AND probably the Order of the Phoenix on his tail. If one of them caught him, his whole plan would be ruined before he had even started.

He was desperately looking for a solution when his gaze fell upon his salvation.

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Harry quickly slipped in the back alley and knocked on the backdoor. Lady Luck was with him because a few seconds later, one of the twins answered.

"Hey, Harry, mate, good to see you! FRED," he called, "Guess who's come to visit!" He turned back to Harry. "So what brings you to our most humble store?"

"I need your help. Can I come in?"

"Sure, sure! HEY! What the bloody hell is that!" He was gaping at the motorcycle.

"A little something Sirius left to me. I need a place to stash it while I shop."

"Oh," George looked unsure of what to say. "Well, yeah, you could leave it here I guess."

"Hell! That's a brilliant bike. Where did you get it?" exclaimed the just arrived Fred.

"He got it from Sirius!" whispered George. Obviously they were afraid of upsetting Harry.

"No need to be all hush-hush you know. I'm not about to break. Not to mention it's bloody annoying!" Harry scolded, though he wasn't really angry at them. He had to admit he was unpredictable at best.

"Sorry, Harry. So what can we help you with?" asked George.

"I need a good disguise."

"A disguise? What for?"

"Well, see, in addition to Death Eaters wanting my hide, I also have the Ministry of Magic after me because I did illegal magic," explained Harry.

"Illegal magic? What happened?"

"I lost the protection I had at the Dursleys. I used magic to escape." Well that wasn't a lie.

"What about the Order?" asked Fred.

"Actually, I don't want the Order to find me either. If they do, they'll make me go back to Headquarters and I'm not ready to go back there..." Another half-truth, he was better than he thought at this. Telling not all the truth and leading people to the wrong conclusions was much more effective than outright lying. Easier to keep track of too. The twins looked hesitant though.

"Umm, Harry, you know the Order wants to protect you right," said George.

"And mom must be really worried right now," continued Fred, "You know how she gets."

"Look, I understand what you're saying. All I'm asking for is a day's head start. You know I can take care of myself, at least for one day. And if the Order can't find me, the Death Eaters won't either, trust me. So, you help me get a disguise, I do my shopping, I come back here and get my bike and then you go tell your mother I dropped by during the day and I was fine. You're not in the Order yet, right?" The twins acquiesced. "So you have no reason to believe I'm not supposed to be here. For all you know, there are Order members outside waiting for me."

The twins looked at each other, as if they were communicating without words. A moment later they turned back to Harry.

"Deal," said Fred, "You have one day."

"But you are not leaving here without a few secret weapons of our invention."

Harry smiled. Any attacker he met today wouldn't know what hit him.

TBC


	7. Shopping and Dark Magic

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 6: Shopping and Dark Magic

Harry's shopping was going even better than he had expected. The twins' disguise was working even better than expected and he had yet to meet anyone from either the Order or the Death Eaters. And the Ministry of Magic obviously had other fish to fry, what with Fudge finally admitting the Dark Lord was back.

Harry had to admit the disguise was very good. No, it was excellent. They had given him very self-effacing clothes so that he could blend in. These clothes had a small Notice-Me-Not charm and a subtle yet complex charm that made shopkeepers forget about him. Not forget completely, they would remember they had a customer. However, they would not remember his features or what exactly he had bought.

The twins had also used him as guinea pig for their new line of self-transfigurative candies. One sweet gave him light brown hair and another, brown eyes. The twins had tried to get him to try the blue hair and pink eyes until Harry reminded them that he was trying to be inconspicuous. They had hidden his scar with a simple bandana, which wasn't uncommon in the Wizarding world. Youths tended to avoid tall pointy hats during rebellious years.

So, finally free of his fame, at least for the day, Harry had shopped. He had started by getting himself a new trunk. Having plenty of money, he easily bought himself a deluxe three-compartment trunk. It was a similar model to Moody's but more fancy and with fewer compartments. It also had an auto-shrink feature so he could carry it in his pocket.

Once he had something to put his clothes in, Harry proceeded to get himself a new wardrobe. It was a good thing none of the twins' candy had modified his proportions; that would've been awkward. So Harry had shopped for clothes for the first time in his life. Yes, he had bought clothes before. However he had not _shopped_. It was pleasant, though he wouldn't want to do that every week. Trying clothes was tiring.

It took over three hours but finally he had a decent wardrobe. In fact, it was more than a decent wardrobe. It was a spectacular wardrobe. Probably even Malfoy would agree.

The next thing on his shopping list had been the bookstore. After a quick lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry went to Flourish and Blotts. He started by picking up his sixth year books. He had received very good marks on his OWL's and was taking Transfiguration, Charms, DADA, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and, surprisingly, Potions. Somehow, Harry had managed an Outstanding on that one and was now in Professor Snape's NEWT class. McGonagall might have had something to do with it, but he wasn't sure.

Once he had gathered all his books, he browsed for a few extra titles. He was looking for duelling books as well as ritual books. The duelling books simply because quite a few people wanted him dead and knowing hexes was always a good thing. The ritual books were for a more obscure reason. First, he wanted to look for the Loyalty Spell and see what exactly it implied. Second, he wanted to find out what was the ritual Voldemort had used to create a new body. His blood had been part of the resurrection and he wanted to know how that affected had affected Voldemort as well as how it had affected himself.

While the first type of book was easily found, the second one was by far a lot more uncommon and those that he found were more or less incomplete. Rituals, it seemed, were mostly considered Dark magic. Giving up after two hours of fruitless search, Harry paid for the books he had chosen and went to Plan B.

There was another book shop in Knockturn Alley. Harry was hoping he wouldn't have to go there, but he needed the information. So he put his faith in the twins' disguise and stepped in the dark street.

He quickly came to the small bookstore. Inside, it was stuffy and foreboding. However Harry was on a mission, so he shrugged off the feeling and started browsing.

The books here were definitely not school material. Some of them were just plain nasty. However a great many, though indubitably Dark, were very, very interesting.

Harry had picked out a book and was currently leafing through it when a familiar voice spoke to him.

"Rather young to be in such a place on your own, don't you think?" Harry turned in the direction of the voice. He felt his blood freeze in his veins. Standing beside him was Draco Malfoy.

After a moment Harry remembered he was disguised and Draco probably did not recognize him.

"I could return the statement," Harry replied, finally recovering from his shock and trying to look disinterested.

"Oh, I'm not on my own," Draco countered, unfazed, "My aunt is in the back looking through some boring old scrolls." He glanced curiously at the book Harry was holding.

Harry, on the other hand, was panicked for a moment. Bellatrix Lestrange was here! Then he realized that she probably wouldn't recognize him either. It was risky, but Harry hadn't found what he needed yet. He had to stay. Besides, leaving right now would be too suspicious.

And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't just barge in the backstore and kill her, though he wanted to very badly. _Eventually_, he told himself to quell the rage that was rising in him. _She'll get what she deserves, for Sirius and for Neville…_

"Good choice." Draco interrupted his musings. "This tome has very, er, interesting curses. I rather enjoyed it. I do recommend you take it."

"Oh, euhm, well, I'm not sure yet. I'm just interested in the theory, really," Harry stuttered.

"Let me guess: another one who's squeamish about using "Dark" Magic?" Draco mocked him.

"Well, it is evil."

"It is not, actually. Magic is a tool, only subjected to the intent of the user. It is no more evil than a knife. It can be used to cut vegetables or to kill. It only depends on the will of the caster, nothing more. Dark Magic owes its reputation to the fact that evil wizards like to use it as the average Dark curse is more powerful than other more "acceptable" curses."

"That is a rather different philosophy. I was led to believe that Dark Magic corrupted the caster."

"It is not the magic that corrupts, but power. Power comes in different forms, politics, money and magic amongst others. All three of them can corrupt. However, Dark Magic is _not_ harmless. It may not be evil, but it has to be used with caution. It is more... demanding than everyday spells. Here," Draco slipped a large tome off a shelf, "This one explains it better than I ever could. The theory may be dull, but it is essential to know or you might have nasty secondary effects."

"Ah, er, thanks. That was very enlightening."

"It was my pleasure. Now I should return in the back before my aunt loses her mind in some old scroll."

With that Draco Malfoy disappeared in a small door. Harry rounded up his purchases, including a very large tome on rituals and Draco's suggestion, paid for them and was once again in the street.

Carrying his books in a featherweight bag, Harry was heading back towards Diagon Alley when he felt something.

Something was wrong. No, not wrong, not exactly. He had a foreign feeling. He concentrated, trying to figure what it was. Something was... calling to him. Yes, it was unmistakable. Something was calling and Harry's whole being strained to answer that call. It was getting stronger with every moment that passed.

Slowly, Harry took a step forward. Then another. And before he knew it, he was following that call, as if in a trance.

TBC


	8. Surprises

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 7: Surprises

Harry was walking as if in a dream, a place where time did not matter. He could have been walking for seconds or for days. All that mattered was getting to that call. It wasn't like the Imperius curse, no. That he could've countered easily. This was different. This felt right.

Harry snapped out of his trance-like state when he entered a shop. He managed to piece together the fact that he was still in Knockturn Alley and that this was an armoury. Everywhere there were weapons of all sorts: swords, bows, axes, daggers, staffs and many others he had never heard of. However the call was still there, stronger than ever. What had jolted him back to reality was the raw _power_ these weapons gave off.

He could sense the energy flowing in the shop. He could hear the hum of power, he could see the faint swirls of energy, he could smell the thick atmosphere saturated with it, he could taste the metallic force in the air. Most of all he could feel his own magic answering to it.

However, his magic was responding to one variety of this magic more than others. That was what was calling to him, he figured. He was just about to follow this energy back to its source when someone interrupted him.

"Welcome to Wargorn's Magical Weaponry. My name is Gregory Wargorn. Can I help you with anything, young sir?"

The man that had just spoken was in his early thirties. He had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and honey-coloured eyes in an angular face.

"I... it's just... I think something here is calling me... it doesn't make much sense but..."

"Indeed. In that case you should answer that call," a ragged voice replied. The source was a very old man with grey hair, sitting in the back of the shop. This man was obviously blind and he held a beautifully carved cane in his hands. Harry looked at him blankly, not moving.

"Well, go ahead; find which one of these weapons is calling to you, young man." The call was indeed getting somewhat impatient, so Harry decided to follow the man's advice and figure out the rest later. His mind wasn't really up to deciphering what was going on. As he started looking through the weapons hanging on the walls, he absently heard the old man speaking to Gregory.

"You're lucky to see this, Gregory. It is very rare that a weapon calls someone. This is only the second time I have seen it and I am very old."

"What do you mean, Grandfather. How can a weapon call someone?"

"Through magic. Magical weapons have a mind of their own and sometimes they choose their wielder, just like a wand chooses its wizard. It is rare that a choosing is strong enough to call the wielder to the weapon, but as you can see, it does happen. This young man was probably walking close by and the weapon called him. Has he found it yet?"

Harry had in fact stopped in front of a glass case containing five different knives. Two of them were long daggers, two more were medium-length throwing knives and the last one was a very small dagger, the kind you use to surprise an opponent. All of them were made in the same style. The blades were made with some sort of iridescent black metal and the handles were silver decorated with a black design. They were beautiful weapons.

"Very nice aren't they? They are among my favourite pieces," said Gregory, who had walked up behind him.

"Which one is it Gregory?" called the old man.

"It is the Dark Daggers, Grandfather."

"Are you sure? These knives have been in the family for generations. I think it was made even before the Wargorns opened this shop. Which one of them is it, young man?"

Harry was entranced by the sight of the knives and Gregory had to repeat the question before Harry understood.

"All. All five of them. They were meant to stay together." Harry didn't know why he said that, but it sounded right. He barely registered the shock of the two other men. "Could you open the case please?" he asked Gregory.

As soon as the lid was opened Harry reached for one of the throwing knives. When he touched the handle, there was a rush of power. Harry felt the weapon's acceptance and subsequent fusion with him. It had barely lasted a second and when it was over, Harry's mind was finally clear again.

He picked up the knife, no, _his_ knife. There was no way he was leaving this store without all five of them. He weighed the skilfully crafted weapon. It was perfectly balanced and it seemed the grip had been made for his hand especially. When he looked closely at the designs on the handle he realized they were runes, though he did not know what they meant. He asked Gregory about them.

"I don't know all of them," answered the shopkeeper, "I do know this one keeps the blades sharp and that one makes it that any wound caused by this blade cannot be healed by magic, but the other ones are ancient and I have never encountered them anywhere else."

"Those are old weapons, young man," added the shopkeeper, "even I do not know the secrets of their making."

Harry had turned towards the old man when he had answered. He noticed a target hanging on the wall just behind him. Without thinking, Harry grabbed his knife by its blade and let it fly with a flick of his wrist. It landed straight in the center, slightly quivering.

"You...uh...have experience with knives I take it," asked Gregory, slightly taken aback.

Harry had a fleeting memory of cutting up vegetables for Aunt Petunia. He quickly banished it.

"Not really," he said. He stretched his hand towards the wall, as if beckoning someone to come. Surprisingly, the knife came flying back and Harry easily caught it from the air. He turned to the shopkeeper.

"How much for them?" Gregory was stunned and it took a few seconds for the question to be processed.

"Um, they are quite expensive, twelve hundred Galleons to be exact."

"I'm taking them. However I don't have that much money on me right now. I'd have to go to Gringotts to get it."

"You could always write a payment agreement. You simply sign with the imprint of your key and the money will be automatically withdrawn," explained Gregory.

"That would be perfect," Harry answered, relieved he wouldn't have to leave without the knives. However, something occurred to him. "Do you have any sheaths for these?"

"Don't tell me you forgot to offer him sheaths, Gregory? The least you can do for such a sale is to offer them free of charge," interjected the old man.

"Of course, I'm sorry," Gregory apologized, "It's just, I'm a bit unsettled, you know. So, where do you want to wear the daggers?"

As if they had heard the question, the knives flew up in the air and placed themselves on different parts of his body. The two longer daggers hovered near his ankles; the small one was floating behind his back while the throwing knife he was holding flew to his left side, suspended horizontally just below his ribs. The second throwing knife attached itself to Harry's left forearm, handle towards him.

Harry was puzzled as to why he didn't have a knife on both forearms until he felt something warm in his back pocket. _His wand_ was meant to be there. Somehow IallI his weapons were cooperating, as if they had a mind of their own… He looked at Gregory who was completely flabbergasted this time.

It took a while, but finally Harry had a pair of dragonhide boots with integrated sheaths, a small sheath for his lower back, one for his left side and a special one for his forearm that expulsed the knife blade first with a flick of his wrist. Enthralled with this system, he got one similar for his wand to be strapped to his wand arm.

When Harry finally left the store, he was feeling a lot more confident. Of course he didn't know anything about weapon fighting yet, but he planned on training and he already felt at ease with his weapons.

Harry was walking back to Diagon Alley when he stopped short. He had glanced at the display of a shop and caught sight of his reflection in the glass. His disguise was wearing off! _Damn those twins! They told me the spells would last for twenty-four hours!_ He pulled his hood over his head to hide his now near-black hair. He hurried back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

He slipped in the back alley and entered through the back door without knocking. George, who was opening boxes, jumped and turned around.

"Oh, Harry, it's just you. Finished shopping already?"

"Not quite! Your sweets have a much more limited lifespan than what you told me."

"What do you...?" Harry pulled down his hood. "Merlin! What did you do?"

"Nothing, that's what! You're lucky I didn't get recognized! Those sweets of yours must be faulty."

"All the others we tested worked perfectly. Well, except for Tonks, but that's because she's a Metamorphmagus George's voice trailed off.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Harry, I think you're a Metamorphmagus too. I mean, that's exactly what happened with Tonks."

"How the hell could I be a Metamorphmagus I haven't shown any signs until now!"

"Well, Tonks mentioned she didn't find out until she started working on self-transfiguration in Hogwarts. Before that the only indication was the fact that her hair never changed."

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said, sitting heavily on a box, "my hair's never changed much either."

"We could test it if you want."

"How?"

"Eat another of those self-transfigurative candies and try to change back by will."

Having nothing to lose, Harry ate a candy that gave him long pink hair. He closed his eyes and focused on how he always looked. He felt a tingling on his scalp and when he opened his eyes, George was staring awe-struck and his hair was back to normal.

"Wicked" breathed George.

TBC


	9. Blood

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

I also used a scene from the movie The Punisher for this chapter

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 7: Blood

Last chapter

_Having nothing to lose, Harry ate a candy that gave him long pink hair. He closed his eyes and focused on how he always looked. He felt a tingling on his scalp and when he opened his eyes, George was staring awe-struck and his hair was back to normal._

"_Wicked" breathed George._

"What's wicked?" called Fred coming in the room.

"Harry's a Metamorphmagus,like Tonks," said George quickly.

"Can we _not_ tell the Daily Prophet, please," said Harry, annoyed, "And aren't you supposed to be watching the store?" he asked Fred.

"It's calm out there with most customers heading back home for dinner and I was wondering why George was taking so long. And what's that about the Daily Prophet."

"First," Harry said, doing some quick thinking, "I'm sick of publicity and second, if I really am a Metamorphmagus, it gives me a major advantage in the war. So I'll say this only once: this doesn't leave this room. Don't tell anyone, not your family and especially not Dumbledore." _If Dumbledore doesn't know about this,_ Harry thought, _it will give me the freedom I need to do what I have to do_.

"Are you sure? I mean Tonks could help you train and whatnot," said Fred uncertainly.

"I don't care. I don't want Dumbledore or anyone else to know and that's final. I'll just have to train myself, though anything you know about Metamorphmagi is welcome. It's not like they were an O.W.L. subject."

"OK, fine, we'll keep the secret for now. But promise us that you'll go to the Order if you need help with anything," consented George.

"As for what we know about Metamorphmagi, it's only bits and pieces we heard from Tonks," added Fred.

"That's already more than I know," stated Harry.

"Well, I already told you how she discovered what she was. She mentioned the hard part of her training was to overcome the subconscious because it always tries to revert the body back to its original form," explained George.

"And she also talked about bones being the hardest thing to change and the hair the easiest. That's pretty much it actually," continued Fred.

"Nothing else?" Harry asked.

"Well, there was the time of her induction in the Order, but I don't really understand that part. We overheard an argument between her and Snape about a potion on the Extendable Ears."

"Yes, I remember," George interrupted, "Something about blood based ingredients?"

"No, it was human based ingredients, I think. In the end Dumbledore had her go through an alternate procedure, though that wasn't clear. That's all we know, really," Fred said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically to Harry.

Harry sighed. This new ability could turn out to be an invaluable asset or a complete disaster. He should have bought a book on Metamorphmagi at Flourish and Blotts. _Who am I kidding, how was I supposed to know this was going to happen?_ And now it was getting late and it was going to close soon, if not already. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of that fact.

"Well, thank you, I guess. I'll go have some dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, now. Could you guys give me one last hour of peace before setting the Order after me? I don't fancy having my dinner interrupted."

The twins looked at him suspiciously, but let him go anyways. Harry, with a quick insight of Legilimency, realised they were planning to call the Order in half an hour as a sort of compromise. He decided to let them do so. At least he was forewarned.

Soon after, Harry was out in Muggle London with Sirius' bike and a pick-me-up from the Leaky Cauldron. The bike started as if it was straight out from the garage. Cautiously, Harry climbed on. He was thankful for once that he was raised in the Muggle world and knew, more or less, how a motorbike worked. That is, in theory.

He set off a little jerkily, but his riding soon smoothed off. It wasn't that different from riding a broom. The balance was easier and the traffic was nothing compared to a Quidditch game. The one thing that gave him trouble were the gears, but that was soon figured out.

Not feeling quite comfortable yet, he rode slowly around town until he found a nice small park with a picnic table. He parked his bike and set down to eat.

The next thing he was planning to do was to get to Little Hangleton. He couldn't stay in London if he wanted to escape the Order and he was going to go to Little Hangleton eventually. Tom, the barkeeper from the Leaky Cauldron, had provided him with a map of England and he quickly found the little village. It wasn't that far, a couple of hours at most. Once there he was planning on finding a small hiding place to camp in. He had bought himself a sleeping bag and the summer nights were warm. If worse came to worst, the compartments in his trunk were big enough to sleep in.

Renting a hotel room was out of the question. Not only had he forgotten to get himself Muggle money with all the inheritance business, but it was the first place anyone would look for him. No one would expect him to sleep in the wild. Furthermore, he had to do some reading before knocking on Voldemort's door. Not to mention he wasn't even sure of his welcome. This could also be an opportunity to find out if the Dark Lord's intentions were as good as he claimed with a little of snooping around. Harry was glad his Invisibility Cloak had escaped the Dursley's destruction.

Finished eating, Harry rose to throw out his garbage when two strong arms grabbed him from behind and twisted his right arm painfully behind his back. He managed to stay on his feet but barely.

They were three massive men, obviously up to no good. One of them was holding his arm tightly behind his back, making his eyes water. A second one was standing right in front of him, a sinister expression on his face. The third was slightly to the side, enjoying the show.

"Give the money, kid, and we ain't gonna hurt you," said the one in front of him. Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't give them Galleons! Then he remembered his daggers. Well now was the time to see if he could use them.

Acting purely on instinct and on adrenaline, Harry twisted his left wrist making his knife fly into his hand. He turned it so that the blade was facing backwards and tightening his fist over the grip he stabbed fiercely in the lower stomach of the man who was holding him. In a flash the knife was out of the flesh again. Harry threw his fist in an arc just below the face of the thug in front of him, letting the blade neatly slice the dirty neck. For a moment he saw the air from the trachea bubble through the blood, then the man collapsed on the ground, a red pool spreading around him.

Meanwhile the crook that had been holding him had let go and crumpled on his knees. Harry quickly took out his second knife from its sheath and stabbed the man in the base of his skull. Death was instantaneous.

The third thief was finally out of his shock and advanced on Harry, his own knife out. Without even hesitating, Harry cut off the hand holding the knife with his left dagger and plunged his right one upwards through his chin. The mouth of the crook opened in a silent cream, the bloody blade of Harry's dagger showing through the mouth. Harry violently ripped his knife away and the body fell to the floor, motionless.

Harry looked at his handiwork with emotionless eyes, slowly coming out of the lethal trance that had taken over him. Remotely, he realised that he had, for the first time, killed in cold blood. And vaguely, he realised that he should feel guilty, horrified. Not... satisfied.

That is how he felt though. He looked at his blood-covered knifes. As he looked, he saw the dark material of the blades _absorb_ the blood, leaving them spotless again. And as that happened, a strong feeling of contentment went through him, like he had found a missing piece of himself.

He did realise that killing was bad, and he knew that he wasn't going to start killing unnecessarily. But these men had attacked him, and he did not feel guilty about defending himself. Just as he certainly wouldn't feel guilty about killing Death Easters, or Voldemort.

Even before he was born, Harry was destined by the Prophecy to become a murderer. He wasn't _becoming_ a killer. He was simply embracing his nature.

He realised now that he had been trying to deny this nature with his _saving-people-thing_. Subconsciously, he tried to deny this nature by fighting it, without ever realising it. It hadn't worked. Now he was going to use this nature. However, he also knew he had to control it. He had to focus and not let it control him.

With an entirely new form of determination, he sheathed his blades, climbed on his bike and rode away from London.

TBC


	10. Blood, Second Round

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 9: Blood, Second Round

A twig snapped, waking Harry. His eyes were the only part of him that was moving, searching the darkness of the forest around him. He was lying down in his sleeping bag, inside a small depression in the side of a rocky cliff. That way, no one could sneak up on him from behind. In front of him was a small clearing, preventing animals from creeping up on him.

His eyes continued searching between the trees as he listened carefully for any other uncanny noises. But he didn't hear a thing. And that really worried him.

A forest, even in the darkest hours of the night, is never completely silent. There are bugs buzzing around, small nocturnal animals running around and plenty of predators hunting. Not to mention that the wind should be making the leaves rustle.

The silence was creepy, supernatural. It seemed as if all traces of life had fled or were hiding in a silence of death. Which meant one thing: there was some sort of predator close by. And Harry was pretty sure it wasn't an ordinary one.

He slipped out of his sleeping bag and put on his glasses and his boots. He slept fully clothed; fighting in pyjamas wasn't the most practical thing and not only was he in a forest, he was pretty close to Voldemort's Manor, so fighting was a very real possibility.

Harry grabbed his two long daggers and stood up. Something was definitely wrong in the forest. Something that didn't belong. His daggers were slightly warm, as if they were anticipating the upcoming fight.

In the last two days, Harry had realised the Dark Daggers had a mind of their own. It was subtle. He couldn't communicate directly with them but they obviously had some sort of magical link with him. How else could he have become a talented blade-wielder in less than a day? Some sort of knowledge had been implanted in his mind and the only probable source were the daggers themselves. And right now, he could sense a warning from them.

Suddenly, a blurred shape dashed out from the trees on his right. Harry turned, slashing his dagger in a diagonal line. The blade caught in the man's shoulder, slicing him open from shoulder to hip. Before his intestines even had time to pour out, another figure attacked him from the left. Harry stabbed it with his left dagger. However, this one was armed with a two-handed sword and deflected his blade.

Before Harry even had time to engage in the duel, a third person came out of the trees. This one was shorter and also armed with a sword, though smaller than the other. As two blades swung towards him, he ducked and rolled on the ground, escaping the range of the deadly weapons.

As he stood again he realised he was at a major disadvantage. These two had a much further reach with their weapons than he had. What he needed right now was twin swords, not mere daggers.

The thought had barely gone through his mind when he felt a sudden increase of the weight in his hands. The daggers had grown to match his unvoiced wishes. He now had two perfectly balanced twin swords, long enough to challenge his two opponents. _Hell_, Harry thought, _sometimes I'm so lucky I scare even myself_.

His musings were interrupted when the two men charged him. They moved fast, too fast to be natural. Harry pushed one of the swords aside with his own and ducked the other one while hacking at the smaller man's thigh. He dropped his sword and grabbed his leg, howling in pain, his open mouth showing very sharp fangs. That's when Harry realized these weren't just men.

They were vampires. No wonder they moved so fast.

Harry's pause almost cost him his life. He didn't quite evade the rush of the other vampire and the blade ripped open his left upper arm. However, the vampire was slightly overbalanced and Harry took advantage of this by burying his right sword right under the vampire's plexus. He ripped it out again and faced the vampire that was now trying to get back up on his injured leg.

"STOP!" someone called from the shadows.

Harry turned in direction of the voice, making sure he kept the injured vampire in his line of sight. He didn't want to get stabbed in the back.

"WHO'S THERE?" he called, "SHOW YOURSELF."

From the darkness of the woods emerged two dozens of vampires. Harry immediately spotted the one who had spoken. He had an aura of authority radiating from him. This was undoubtedly the leader. And the one Harry would have to deal with. Surrounded by powerful Dark creatures, he saw his survival chances dropping dramatically.

"Congratulations. I must say I'm impressed," said the head of the vampires. "These were not the best of my fighters but they were good nonetheless. Tell me, what faction are you from?"

"Faction? What the bloody hell do you mean?"

The leader stepped forward, examining him closely. "You're not a vampire!" he said, flabbergasted.

"Of course not!" Harry replied. "What would make you think _that_?"

"What are you then? How did you defeat three vampires in mere seconds, with only a scratch?"

"The how is not important, just that I did. As for what I am, I'm not likely to tell you. Wouldn't want to end the mystery, would we?" His heart was hammering in his chest, partly from fear and partly from adrenaline, but he kept enough of his mind to realise that for some reason, the vampires now had a slight fear of him, and he was hoping to press that advantage all he could.

The leader narrowed his eyes, and then turned to the injured vampire, who was now limping towards his comrades: "What is wrong with you?" he asked.

"The wound won't heal," he answered weakly. All the vampires turned to the two unmoving vampires. The bodies were blackening before their very eyes.

"What the hell? Such a wound shouldn't have killed them." He turned to Harry and noticed for the first time the twin swords he was holding. Looking more closely he saw something that would have made his heart stop if it hadn't already. "The runes... they're vampiric runes..." he said softly.

Harry, however, heard. "What? You mean you can read them."

The leader looked up, startled. "Yes I can. These are runes only known by vampires. Which means that your weapons were made by a vampire. How did you obtain them?"

"Well it would be more accurate to say they obtained me." Looking at the frank curiosity on the vampire's face, Harry decided to take a chance and tell them the truth. "I was walking in Knockturn Alley when suddenly I heard this calling. I followed it and these weapons were what called me. They... chose me, I guess. I have a sort of link with them. I don't know much more about them."

"They chose you, you say," the leader looked pensive. "Interesting. I have never heard of a mortal bonding with a vampire weapon before. Nevertheless, anyone in possession of such a weapon is granted immunity from the vampires. As long as you have them, none of our kind will touch you."

"What about them?" Harry countered, pointing to the corpses.

"They didn't know and anyways, they have been punished. It is your right to kill your attackers. You may kill the third one as well, ignorance is no excuse."

Harry seemed taken aback. He looked at the injured vampire. Not only was he obviously in a lot of pain since his wound wasn't healing, but he was also terribly afraid. Seeing no advantage in killing the suffering dark creature he lowered his weapons. There was a sharp protest in the back of his mind, which he was barely able to ignore for a moment, but it faded quickly.

After getting rid of the half-disintegrated corpses, the group of vampires left. The leader was impressed with the skill Harry had displayed and surprised that he left the two other vampires live.

"Mortals are usually glad to be rid of us," he explained, "We are rarely shown mercy as we are thought to have no conscience or morals. We are a misunderstood people and I appreciate your gesture."

However, no matter how much awe he had for the vampiric weapons, he refused to translate the runes on the Dark Daggers, claiming it was forbidden to teach the runes to a mortal.

Soon after, the clearing was empty save for Harry. He wasn't sleepy anymore, so he simply sat on his sleeping bag, pondering all that he had learned. The weapons were vampiric, which explained their taste for blood. They were sophisticated weapons, but basic beings in their desires. He had to be careful, they were already corrupting him. The problem was, he did not know how to stop the process. Hopefully, they would attain a balance. He had no ambition of becoming a mindless killer.

Though wasn't that what Voldemort was trying to do? Maybe the weapons were his doing. Possible, but highly unlikely. The armourer had said that these had been in the family for generations and the vampire had refused to divulge the meanings of the runes to him, a _mortal_. Was Voldemort still considered a mortal?

Huh, that was debatable.

And what were those vampires doing here? Quite a coincidence that they were in the same village as the Dark Lord! Was there already an alliance between the Vampire Clans and Voldemort? Guess he'd find that out soon if he went through with his plan. He sighed, wondering for the zillionth time why had the fates had dropped this on his shoulders.

TBC


	11. Slytherin Games

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

WARNING: Harry and Voldemort will be a little OOC in the second half of the chapter. Keep in mind they are trying to outplay each other.

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 10: Slytherin Games

Harry's head snapped up. _About time_, he thought. Securing his Invisibility Cloak around him, he cautiously approached the mansion. As he passed through the wards, he felt only a small tingling sensation. Obviously, they were not designed to stop him. However, Harry was slightly worried Voldemort would be alerted to his presence. Hopefully he was already too far to sense the disturbance or he had bigger fish to fry. Or both.

Harry had waited for this moment for two days now. The ritual for the Loyalty Spell was not in any of the books he had bought. Obviously this was a very ancient and obscure bit of magic. So Harry had waited for Voldemort to leave the mansion so he could slip in and see what the Loyalty Spell was exactly. The Dark Lord had to have something along the lines of description.

This was actually one of the rare times in Harry's life when he was really glad he had a scar linking him to Voldemort. Even though Occlumency blocked out most of the pain, he was still aware of Voldemort's proximity. So he waited, hoping the Dark Lord would find some errand to go on. He didn't want to risk getting caught by Voldie yet. Any Death Eaters, he was confident he could handle. As long as they didn't mob him, that is.

The moment had come. Voldemort had left the manor, and from the looks of it, the whole manor was empty. Harry walked in the door and stopped to listen. Not a sound. Not even the hissing of a snake, which meant either Nagini was out hunting or Voldemort had brought her with him. (A/N: Is Nagini female?) He was in luck. Cloak or no cloak, Nagini would have smelled him. He didn't think killing his pet snake would please Voldemort much.

Finally assured he was alone, Harry set on exploring the old house. A lot of it was in ruins, with obvious magical repairs here and there. He noticed electrical switches, though all the lights had been replaced by torches. Talk about nostalgia. Or was that repugnance of everything muggle?

He had to admit, however, that with a little work this place could be grand. The large living room in particular. The ceiling reached up to the roof and the second story had a small balcony overlapping it, attached to a beautiful staircase. Deducing that Voldemort would likely have his room up there, he climbed up to the second story.

He was glad he waited until no one was around to visit. The creaking stairs would have given him away instantly. There were five rooms on the second floor all distributed on either side of a long corridor. It wasn't hard to find the Dark Lord's room as it was the only one which had signs of recent habitation.

He walked to the desk. It was in the corner between the window and the fireplace. On the opposite side of the room was the bed. The room had little furniture, but the furniture it had was luxurious.

On the desk was the answer to Voldemort's whereabouts tonight: floor plans of Azkaban and guard shifts, as well as descriptions of the magic used in the place. Obviously, the Dementors were shipped somewhere else and Ministry Wizards were guarding the place. The question was, were there enough of them to hold off Voldemort.

Snapping out of this musings Harry turned to the small shelf on which were placed a few books. It looked as if none of them held the answers he was looking for. However, one of them had no title. Curious, Harry took down the leather bound book. The first thing he noticed was that it had a lock, as a personal journal had. The second thing he noticed was a small tingling in his hand just before the lock opened. Harry opened the book on the first page.

**This is my journal, charmed by my blood only to reveal its secret to me.**

**- Lord Voldemort**

_Only to himself,_ Harry thought_, then how did I...? Of course! He used_ MY _blood to resuscitate, so obviously, we share the same blood. Funny how magic backfires sometimes._

Emboldened, Harry leafed through the pages until he came upon what he was looking for. Among other things, the journal contained Dark Spells, theories on the Unforgivables and a description of Voldemort's rebirth. On the last written pages was the Loyalty Spell.

**The Loyalty Spell is a most powerful ritual which forbids**

**any ill intent between two parties. It is peculiar**

**in the fact that it does not create an inferior/superior bond, **

**but one of equals. It has been used very few times throughout**

**history,** **and no one has ever been able to overcome it and harm the**

**other** **party. There are two variations of this ritual, one that only**

**involves** **the two individuals participating and another that extends**

**the protection to loved ones. The difference between the two** **is a **

**unicorn hair added to the phoenix blood powering the potion.**

**The potion uses phoenix blood because this magical creature is **

**known as the single most loyal being in this realm. However,**

**using the blood of such a creature makes this ritual Dark Arts.**

"Aha," whispered Harry, "Knew there was something you didn't tell me. Though, I should have guessed this would be Dark Arts. And don't think you'll be able to slip me the potion for individuals. I'm doing this for my friends and I won't let you harm them."

The text continued with the instructions on how to brew the potion and on the specifics of the ritual. It was pretty simple actually. Then again, complicated magic isn't necessarily the most powerful.

Harry jumped as he heard a crashing noise downstairs, followed by a hissing voice.

"You incompetent fools! Azkaban was ours to take! What excuses do you have this time?" Clearly, Voldemort was back and his little Azkaban breakout had failed. Harry slipped the journal back on the shelf.

"Master," cried a pitiful voice, a voice that made a wave of hatred wash through Harry, "the... Order was alerted... somehow... we had no chance..."

"Crucio," cried the cold voice. It was immediately followed by Wormtail's agonized cries as he was punished for his failure.

Using the screams as cover for the creaking floor, Harry stepped to the balcony that overstepped the living room where the few Death Eaters present were cowering. There were six of them. Among them Harry recognized, in addition to Wormtail, Bellatrix Lestrange as well as Snape. Obviously, he was the one who had alerted the Order. How did Voldemort not see it?

The Dark Lord lifted the curse on Wormtail and advanced on the Potions Master.

"Severus, I do understand your unwillingness to fight tonight, but why were you not informed of the Order's presence at Azkaban?"

"My lord," Snape said, "I believed the Order to be entirely focused on finding the Potter boy. I thought they had mobilized everyone on that task, including the contact at Azkaban. I must have been wrong."

"I see. And have they found him?"

"No, my lord, they believe you have him." At this the Dark Lord laughed. Harry tried to hold back, but a chuckle escaped his lips. Oh, the irony! The Order did not even suspect he had left of his own will and though Voldemort didn't have him, per se, Harry was in Voldemort's mansion.

"Though I do have something to do with his disappearance," continued Voldemort, once his laughter had subsided, "I have no idea where he is. For all I know, he could be in this very room." At this Harry shut up, and put up his shields as strong as he could. The Dark Lord was just guessing, wasn't he?

That seemed the case as Voldemort proceeded to punish Snape for inaccurate information. It went on in the same vein for a while, every Death Eater being punished for their failures that night. Finally, Voldemort dismissed them and they walked out the front door, apparently to apparate outside the wards.

As Voldemort walked up the creaking stairs, Harry realized he was in a very awkward position. Any movement he made was going to be noisy because of the old floor, and sometime during the torture Nagini had showed up, so it was only a matter of time before he was sniffed out.

Indeed, a few moments later, Nagini passed beside him, paused, and came back. Trusting her smell more than her sight, she reared, preparing to bite. Knowing there was no way he could escape right now, Harry decided to stop stalling and confront Voldemort.

°One more inch, Nagini, and I swear I'll cut you to pieces and feed you to the rats.°

It was hard to say which was more surprised: Nagini or Voldemort. The latter came hurtling out of his room in a very unlordish manner. Not seeing anyone he called.

"Who's there?" Harry took off his cloak and upon seeing the even more surprised face of the Great Dark Lord, started laughing. _I must be _insane, Harry thought, _laughing in my enemies face so boldly._ Which only served to make him laugh more, After a moment, Voldemort gathered his wits.

"I can't say which surprises me more. The fact you're here, that you're a parseltongue, or the threat you made to my snake."

"What can I say, Tom. You have too much influence on me," replied Harry, still in fits of hilarity, or insanity. The difference between both too subtle for him to grasp. Though he realized he had to calm down quickly if he was to outplay the Slytherin.

"Too much influence, how so?" asked Voldemort, still unbalanced.

"Well, we do share a powerful mind link, as you said. Besides, you really know how to hit the sore spots."

"I am still surprised you are here. I knew our tête-à-tête would spur you to some action, though I did not believe you would actually seek me out. I could kill you right now."

"No, you couldn't. The prophecy is on my side, Tom. It says I will kill you, not the other way around." Now this was a gamble. If Voldemort had any inkling that Harry was lying it could be over. But if it worked, it would give him a huge advantage.

"And how would you know of the prophecy? It was destroyed in the Ministry, was it not?"

"Yes. But Dumbledore was the one who heard it, and he told me. It gives me the advantage and that's all I will tell you."

"But if it gives you the advantage, why would you want to go through the Loyalty Spell? I assume that is what you are here for."

"Because I am tired of other people running my life. And the reason they are running my life is because of that goddamn prophecy. I want to make my own destiny, even if that means I need your help."

""They" meaning Dumbledore."

"More specifically, yes. But, as you said, the whole Wizarding world is giving me the Boy-Who-Lived shit. And I want to escape that."

"I see. Well, come in my room, we'll be more comfortable to talk."

Many thoughts were crowding the Dark Lord's mind. Especially the new information about the prophecy. If the boy was to be believed, he had no chance of surviving except for the ritual. Then again, Potter could be lying, but could he chance it? No, for now, it was better to play along.

"I looked up the Loyalty Spell," said Harry as soon as they were seated, "And I want the version with the unicorn hair."

"That might be a problem. I already had quite a few difficulties getting the phoenix blood. I believe getting unicorn hair would be impossible." Inside, the Dark Lord fumed. This kid was way too resourceful!

Harry on the other side was pondering this. Unicorn hair wasn't _that_ rare. So Voldemort had been planning on using hostages to control him. Bastard. But Harry did have his own Slytherin side. Playing all or nothing, he leaned forward in his chair.

"If you had your little bunch of followers back, do you think you could get some?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know your little Azkaban adventure failed, Tom. If I managed to free your Death Eaters, would you agree to the second ritual?"

Voldemort was taken aback. This kid either really had his wits about him or was completely insane. He was playing this game like a master. Whatever the reason was, his offer, it was too good to pass up. He either failed and was imprisoned himself, or he succeeded and Voldemort had his servants back. One way or another, Voldemort came out winning.

"Alright, Potter. If you succeed in freeing my servants, you will get your ritual. _Only_ if you succeed."

"Great! So let's get to work! Do you have any floor plans or other stuff that could help..."

"What? You want to start this right now?"

"Of course! They are still recovering from the earlier attack. They would never expect a second one so soon. Besides, a little action would do me good."

Voldemort, wondering what the hell had happened to the Gryffindor, retrieved his plans from his desk and both of them started planning as best they could knowing their mortal enemy was in wand range.

TBC


	12. Azkaban

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 11: Azkaban

Under the calm, collected exterior, Harry was scared shitless. How he had kept his cool this long he had no idea. The only thing that had kept Voldemort from killing him for the last hour or so was the insubstantial threat of the Prophecy. So either Harry was a much better actor than he had ever thought or Voldemort was completely playing him to achieve some sort of indistinguishable plan. He believed it was the first option, but he wasn't ready to forget about the second one.

Undeniably, Harry had been a lot more daring in the last few days, a lot more confident. It was strange that his own personality would change fast enough for him to realise it. For now, it had kept him alive, though with his spur of the moment suggestion to raid Azkaban himself that might change soon enough.

That was where he was right now. A two-way voice activated portkey created by Voldemort had brought him in one of the towers, close to the Death Eater cells. The Azkaban wards had a strange quirk: they allowed people to apparate or portkey in, but not out. So Harry didn't need to sneak in, just out.

Snapping out of his jumbled thoughts, Harry turned back to the task at hand. Facing Azkaban was a lot less scary than playing with the Dark Lord. The threat here was a lot more tangible.

Now, standing in the main D.E. corridor hidden by his invisibility cloak, Harry waited for an Auror to make an appearance. He guessed, correctly, that most of them were either tending to their injuries or repairing the damage Voldemort's previous raid had caused. He just hoped one of them would come by soon enough.

Coincidentally, an Auror turned around the far corner. By the badge on his gold robes, he was an officer, which was exactly what Harry needed. Pointing a wand in his direction, Harry whispered:

"Imperio." As soon as the Auror's face went blank, Harry sent his orders in his mind.

_Open all the jail cells containing Death Eaters._

The man immediately went to work, each door responding to the password and hand imprint of the officer. Meanwhile, Harry's thoughts went back to the planning with Voldemort...

Flashback

"_Please explain to me how I'm supposed to put an officer under Imperio when I have no knowledge of how to cast that spell?" Harry asked Voldemort._

"_But you do." Harry looked at him blankly. "I implanted that knowledge when I possessed you."_

"_What? Why?"_

"_See it as a show of goodwill from my part."_

"_Yeah, right. Goodwill. Tell me the real reason. And don't tell me that goodwill is the answer 'cause I know you're too Slytherin not to have another reason."_

"_Sharp, as always. The main reason I did it at the time was to see if it would affect you."_

"_Affect me?"_

"_Yes. I knew you had just attempted the Cruciatus on Bellatrix. I gave you the knowledge to see if you would use one of them again, and how you would respond to the power of these spells. As of now, I haven't seen much evidence of their influence, so I guess you haven't used them yet. This will be an opportunity for you."_

_Harry pondered this new information for a moment. It explained the dreams. However, this meant he had to do it in real life as well. Just as he was about to refuse, he remembered his conversation with Malfoy. Magic is a tool, evil is the intent. Well, he wouldn't know for sure until he tried it. And trying it brought another problem._

"_Alright. But how do I keep the Ministry from tracking my magic?"_

"_Hmm. This is quite the drawback. The ritual to disperse the tracking charm on your wand would take a while. It took two hours to free mine when I was in fifth year."_

_Two hours! That was too long. He had to act soon if he wanted to succeed. Harry was searching furiously for a solution when it hit him. It was simple, but he wasn't sure if the Dark Lord would agree._

"_We have brother wands. If you were to lend me yours, I should be able to use it without any problems."_

_Voldemort looked at him with a piercing gaze. "You do realize that giving another wizard your wand willingly is a matter of supreme trust."_

"_You said I was supposed to trust you. Trust cannot be one-sided."_

"_Indeed. However, I will ask for your wand in return." Harry hesitated slightly._

"_Of course. You can always get rid of the Ministry's charms while you're at it."_

_So they had exchanged wands, exactly at the same time, neither wanting to give the other any advantage._

End Flash Back

So now Harry was holding an Auror under Imperio with Voldemort's wand, of all things, and enjoying the rush of magical power in his veins. The only thing it compared to was the Patronus Charm. Obviously, the greater the power of the spell, the greater the rush that accompanied it. Most Dark Arts spells being extremely powerful, it was no wonder many wizards were corrupted by it. It was intoxicating.

A few minutes later, all the cells were unlocked and some Death Eaters had started coming out. Harry lifted the spell off the Auror and stunned him before he had time to react. Fighting the thrill of magic, Harry focused back on his task. With a muttered incantation he launched a miniature Dark Mark spelled to follow him. It wouldn't be very wise for the Death Eaters to see him right now, so the Mark was going to be their beacon for now.

"Death Eaters. Come, your master waits." He really hated saying those words, but, he was going to do a lot more things he hated if he wanted his plan to succeed.

Not even making sure they were following, Harry set off towards West tower. He honestly didn't care if they got lost, that would just make less Death Eaters to deal with. Besides, he didn't want to risk getting caught now.

He had chosen the West tower because it was the one closest to the edge of the wards. The wards hadn't been spelled to keep people from passing through them physically, as Sirius' escape had proven before. It was believed unnecessary since the Island was surrounded by freezing water. That was the flaw Harry wanted to exploit. There wasn't a very long way to go. As soon as they passed the wards they were free. The Death Eaters' powers were intact as there were no more Dementors in the prison, so they could easily apparate. He had his portkey.

Fifteen minutes later he was at the top of the West tower. Unfortunately it seemed that all the prisoners he had freed had made it there as well. Sighing, Harry faced the wall, preparing for some fast spellwork. This was where the whole plan succeeded or failed. Luckily, it seemed that the escape had yet to be discovered.

Harry used a variation of the cutting hex to carve a large circle out of the stone wall. He then used a banishing charm to make the disk fall outside. He immediately followed by catching the falling stone with a levitating charm. Once Harry had the newly created platform under his control, he hovered it just outside the newly created opening.

"Climb on;" he instructed the Death Eaters, "We'll fly out the wards where you can apparate." He climbed on the platform himself, the Mark following him as the Death Eaters still couldn't see him.

The soon-to-be-free prisoners hesitated only long enough to hear an alarm sounding throughout the island. They scrambled on and Harry directed the platform to take the closest direct root to pass the wards.

While they were flying towards freedom, one of the Death Eaters addressed him. One which Harry particularly hated.

"Tell me," said Lucius Malfoy, "Have we met before? Your voice sounds familiar."

_Damn_, Harry thought. It wasn't the time to be discovered. They were seconds away from the magical barrier. He ignored Malfoy. However, a Malfoy does not take well to being ignored.

"I asked you a question!" Lucius hissed, just as Harry felt the tingling meaning they were through the wards. Again, Harry did not answer him, instead informing the rest of the passengers that they could apparate back to Riddle Manor.

This time Malfoy placed the voice.

"Potter!" he exclaimed, amid multiple pops. Without thinking he launched himself towards the area of the voice. Harry was too surprised to react and Lucius pushed him off the edge, disapparating at the same time, and Harry was falling towards the rocky waters below.

Reflexively, Harry caught his portkey and managed to activate it just as he was about to hit the water.

However, using a portkey while moving isn't the best of ideas. Harry still had some of his momentum when he arrived at his destination and crashed onto the floor of the mansion's main room. The only good part of this was that most of the Death Eaters assembled there shrieked in surprise. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't enjoy that very much because of the throbbing in his head.

Slowly, he regained his senses and heard Voldemort ordering his minions to calm down. At the sound of Lucius' name, his head snapped up.

A moment later he was on his feet his left hand outstretched and Malfoy was stuck to the wall, a knife buried is his shoulder.

"What the hell was that fucking stunt, Malfoy?" Harry growled. "I save your pitiful ass from Azkaban and you throw me in the sea?" Harry, enraged, took out his second knife as he stalked towards Malfoy. As he approached the man, he heard Voldemort's voice but the pounding in his ears wouldn't let him make out the words. There was blood lust running through his veins and it demanded satisfaction. Still, there was a lot at stake here, so Harry resolve not to kill the bastard. For now.

That didn't mean he would leave him unscathed.

Because Harry was still wearing his invisibility cloak, all that could be seen of him was the Dark Dagger he was holding in his hand. That must have been a scary sight because Lucius was shaking in fear. Then again, maybe it was because of the pain.

Harry held the blade close to Malfoy's temple. "This is to make sure you remember not to mess with me," he whispered, just before making a long cut from the left temple all the way to the corner of his mouth. Because of the nature of the blades, the wounds would have to heal naturally, leaving a scar. The insult to Malfoy would be greater than any injury.

Before anyone could react, Harry had wrenched the other dagger out of Malfoy's shoulder. His job done for tonight, Harry went to Voldemort holding out the Dark Lord's wand.

"Is the ritual with my wand done?"

"Yes." They quickly exchanged wands.

"Good. I'll be back tomorrow at midnight. Have the Loyalty Spell ready."

Without further words, Harry walked out of the manor, still in a fury, leaving the Dark Lord to deal with his newly freed servants.

Later, lying down to rest in the forest, a little calmer than earlier, Harry wondered if he had just done the worst mistake of his life.

TBC


	13. Loyalty Spell

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 12: Loyalty Spell

"GONE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE GONE?" screamed Cornelius Fudge.

"They escaped. We're not sure how. By the time we sounded the alarm they were nowhere on the island," explained the Auror.

"WHAT? You…" the Minister stuttered, getting ready for one of his long rants. "Didn't you just tell me less than two hours ago that you had pushed back You-Know-Who's attempt? How did the Death Eater's escape, then? How did you let the worst criminals ever unattended long enough for them to escape? How…"

"Maybe if you let Auror Anderson here finish his report, we could know more, Minister," interrupted Dumbledore, the usual twinkle in his eye gone.

Fudge looked taken aback, but came to his senses. "Of course. Go on Anderson."

"Yes, euhm, well," continued the Auror, trying to recover from the Minister's rant, "All we know is someone infiltrated the fortress. We believe with a portkey, but the energy residues are too slim to be sure. The intruder slipped in unnoticed since most of our forces were outside repairing the damage caused by He Who Must Not Be Named's attack. Officer Moraine, who was in charge of the prisoners while we took care of the repairs, claims to have been put under the Imperius and ordered to unlock the cell doors…"

"Excuse me for the interruption," cut in Dumbledore, "but I thought Officer Moraine was one of the Aurors capable of throwing off Imperius."

"Yes, Headmaster. However he claims the caster's will was too strong."

"Indeed. Well, please continue."

"Well, after that, we can only guess. Officer Moraine was stunned as soon as he completed his orders under Imperius. All we found was a gaping hole in the wall of the West tower. Obviously they escaped there but how?..."

"Another mystery to be solved. However, there are other matters at hand for now," Dumbledore addressed the Minister.

"Other matters? Dumbledore, the Death Eaters just escaped Azkaban! A prison we thought was unbreakable! What could be more important then that?" complained Fudge.

Dumbledore looked severely at the Minister, the twinkle in his eye almost nonexistent. "The security of the public. Now that Voldemort—" the two others flinched, "—has his followers back, it will not be long before his raids begin again."

"Oh, God," breathed the Minister, "this is not good." He sighed. "Any good news in all of this? Any clues on Potter?"

"I'm afraid not. All we know is that he spent a day in Diagon Alley. After that he simply disappeared." Never had the Headmaster looked so sad. "We are facing dark days, indeed."

Harry was staring at Riddle Manor, gently stroking Hedwig. This was his last chance to back out. He could still turn around and head back to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore would be overjoyed at having his Golden Boy back, but that wasn't what Harry wanted. He wanted to be away from Dumbledore and even his friends for a while. He had too much on his mind to face them for now. He was angry at Dumbledore for his manipulations and he wasn't ready to face his friends yet. He had too many secrets, too many burdens. It was as if they belonged to a different world now. He had a destiny and he was going to accomplish it alone. He cared too much about his friends to let them be involved.

This spell was his chance to protect them, so why was he hesitating? Simply because he was afraid of screwing fate. If he was the only one who could destroy Voldemort, this Loyalty Spell could really make the Dark Lord immortal. And as much as Harry wanted to protect his friends, he couldn't condemn the whole world to do so.

Then again, maybe fate was impossible to tamper with and he was meant to do this. God, this was going in circles. He sighed loudly, looking at his faithful owl. She had followed him to Little Hangleton, flying around the forest and keeping him company.

"What do you think, girl. Should I go through with this?" Harry wasn't really expecting an answer, but Hedwig gave a little hoot before turning towards the mansion. She turned back to him and gave what was unmistakably a nod.

Harry was amazed. He knew his owl was smart, but this? Well, Harry had wanted a sign and now he had it. Shaking his head to clear his hesitations, he let Hedwig fly off and walked resolutely towards the mansion.

Schooling his features in a confident mask, he walked to the mansion and silently slipped in. Surprisingly, it seemed that all the Death Eaters had left and the whole floor was dark. The only light came from what he remembered as Voldemort's room. Walking as silently as he could, he went up the stairs.

The old stairs, however, announced his arrival with their loud creaking.

"Come in, now. It's not nice to keep others waiting," came the cold voice of the Dark Lord. Squaring his shoulders and reinforcing his Occlumency shields, Harry stepped in the room. Voldemort was standing over a cauldron, his journal opened on the table beside him. _Showtime_, Harry thought.

"Good evening to you too, Tom. By the way, if you don't mind my asking, where is your entourage?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"Harry, did you really think that _this_ was my headquarters?" Voldemort answered, laughing. "I'm only here because it was easier to meet with you. My _entourage_, as you call it, are restoring my true base of operations. Besides, there isn't enough room for them here."

"And will we be going there once the ritual is over?" Harry asked, leaning over the table to see the potion.

The Dark Lord looked at him, a sneer on his lips. "I do not trust you, Potter. I am not taking inconsiderate risks. There are more ways than one to defeat someone and I will not hand you weapons to defeat me."

"That's reassuring," Harry smirked back, "I was afraid you had lost your touch and started going soft on me." Voldemort stared back, an ironic eyebrow lifted in response. "So this is the potion for the Loyalty Spell, huh," Harry continued, "Looks pretty bloody to me."

Voldemort actually rolled his eyes at this. "It _is _blood, you idiot. Phoenix blood."

"Oh… right. So.. did you put the unicorn hair yet?" In response Voldemort lifted a spidery hand up, holding a fine silver hair. Harry extended his hand to feel it. Its silky texture was unmistakable: this was a genuine unicorn hair. Harry mentally thanked Snape for his demanding potion classes. Harry looked at Voldemort in the eye and nodded. The Dark Lord took the hair and dropped in the cauldron. The hair dissolved quickly, giving the deep red potion silver highlights.

"Do you know the incantation for the ritual?" Voldemort asked.

"Of course. I did my homework this time," he sighed, his thoughts drifting back to all he could have done to save his godfather. Knowing this certainly wasn't the time to think about such things, he focused back on the task at hand. Voldemort was pouring the potion in two glasses. Without another word, he handed one of them to Harry.

Harry took the glass, looking directly into Voldemort's blood red eyes. The tension in the room was thick as the two wizards faced off. This was it. With this ritual any chance of one harming the other was going to be annihilated. A second, a minute, a whole eternity passed between them, broken when Harry nodded, taking a gamble that could cost the lives of millions.

They both downed the thick crimson potion at the same time and followed by speaking the words that were going to bind them together:

"_Addictus en aequalitas, nullus letum y nullus malum accedo ceterus. Obligatium iam akaremea._"

A strange and powerful wind swept through the small room snuffing the torches. However, the loss of firelight did not matter as a blinding white light surrounded the two wizards. The magical glow flowed form one body two another in a never-ending circle. There was no pain, only an alien feeling of having something missing and a brief sensation of being powerless. After a certain time the light faded back, leaving both of them in darkness. Neither could tell how much time had passed. The ritual had been otherworldly and it seemed that only a second yet hours had passed.

Their confusion passed quickly and both were relieved, for different reasons, that everything had gone as it was supposed to.

Harry glanced up at Voldemort just in time to see him raise his wand. He immediately realised what the Dark Lord intended to do and stood his ground.

"Osum brisearox" he called. The yellow Bone-Shattering Curse flew at him but sizzled out way before it even got close. Voldemort gave a triumphant smile.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said, obviously pleased.

"And will you be keeping the other part of our deal, Tom?" Harry retorted, relieved by the fact that he couldn't change his decision anymore.

"You mean the one about tutoring you? Of course. I _do_ keep the real promises I make. Meet me here tomorrow, we can work noon to sunset. That is, if you're not afraid of the topics I can teach you." It was obvious what he meant by that last comment.

"No, Tom, not afraid at all. Though, I do wonder, what is the difference between your fake and real promises?"

"Simple. It is all in the wording, something every Slytherin knows. I can use words to make someone believe that I promised something, but it is not necessarily true," Voldemort answered, a sly smirk on his face.

"I see. Well, I guess I'll be leaving you for now." Harry was starting to feel faintly sick. He hoped it was just a normal after effect of the Loyalty Spell.

"May I inquire to where you are staying?"

"Of course not, Tom. If I can't know where your Headquarters are, why on earth would I tell you where mine are?" With that Harry swept out of the room, trying to get out of the house as fast as possible. He was feeling sicker by the minute and that was something he didn't want Voldemort to know.

The sickness receded when he hit fresh air, but it soon came back with a vengeance. He stumbled to the forest, feeling as if his organs were rearranging themselves in his abdomen. He was trying to get to his small campsite but he couldn't find his way through the dizziness. His head was starting to pound and he could barely see with his now black-spotted vision. He crashed to the ground as a wave of pain washed through him. He had no idea where he was right now but such concerns were quickly pushed away from his mind as the pain increased. Dimly, he realised that the pain was mostly focused on his upper back and eyes, but the burning spreading through all his bones and muscles was still horribly intense. The agony increased again and again until Harry could take no more and fell into oblivion.

The last thought that went through his mind was: _This wasn't supposed to happen_.

TBC


	14. Side effects

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 13: Side-effects

Harry slowly came to his senses, one by one. First came taste, a mix of dirt and a coppery taste that could only be blood. He registered this only distantly, his mind still too foggy to understand the information.

He took a deep breath, unconsciously trying to feed oxygen to his fuzzy brain. With that came the scent of damp leaves and rich soil. _The forest…_ was his first distinguishable thought.

It was quickly whipped away when his sense of touch kicked in, bringing a wave of pain with it. It faded rapidly, leaving only the ache that usually followed an intense exercise session. He tried to assess his situation, but he was still too muddled to come up with answers. He was laying face first on the forest floor, that was easy to determine. It also explained the taste of dirt in his mouth.

Suddenly, memory flashed in his perplexed mind. He remembered the Loyalty Spell, and the intense sickness and the unbearable pain that had followed. Well that explained how he had ended up in this uncomfortable position.

However, there was more than just discomfort. His body just didn't feel right. No, scratch that. It felt right, but undoubtedly different. For example, even though he still didn't have the energy or the coordination to move, there was an unexplainable feeling of lightness to his limbs. His whole body felt lighter, with the exception of his shoulders. This weight, while disturbing, did not feel unnatural.

Before he could analyze this discovery any further, multiple sounds assaulted his ears, successfully drowning any and all thought processes. Confusion reigned as bribes of conversation flowed over him.

"Food, food, food…"

"Wake up!"

"Up, up and away!"

"Wait for me!"

"Is he alive?"

"Maybe, but it must hurt."

"He's not very interesting right now."

"Let's go play"

"Wake up, Bond-Wizard."

"Follow me…"

"…fly with me."

"Please wake up, Bond-Wizard."

This last voice was insistent and seemed to be addressing him. His confusion and curiosity feeding his will to move, he fought the last remnants of fog clogging his brain.

He blinked, the bright light of the morning blinding him. His vision gradually cleared and he slowly sat up and looked around. What he saw only added to his confusion: he was completely alone, the only human being in sight. No one to blame for the voices he was still hearing.

Not only that, but his sense of sight was very strange. Reaching towards his face, he realised he had lost his glasses sometime during his stumbling flight in the dark forest. He could see very clearly now. More than clearly. The contrast between what was close and what was far was exaggerated, and he knew instinctively the distance between any object and himself. Yet it wasn't disorienting at all, just disconcerting.

He could still hear all the bits and pieces of conversation. They did not feel menacing at all. In fact, most of them felt indifferent to him. He pushed them at the back of his mind for now and analyzed his surroundings.

Looking around the small part of the forest in which he had collapsed, he noticed far more details than he had ever thought existed. The lines in the tree bark, the veins on the leaves, the small insects all over the vegetation… It was quite overwhelming. Luckily, even if it looked quite different from what he remembered, he recognized more or less where he was. The clearing in which he had taken residence was fifteen minutes to his right.

Now that he had determined where he was and that he was not injured in any way, he relaxed and leaned back a little to find that something was in his way. Something that was attached to his body. He turned his head to look and what he saw almost made him faint again. It was big, black and feathery. And he had two!

He had wings!

In a panicked state he rose to his feet, turning around in circles trying to get a better look. Obviously, he didn't have all his wits back because it didn't help him much; it just made him look stupid.

He stopped suddenly, hearing laughter. Looking around he realised exactly _what_ was producing the voices he was hearing. All around him in the branches were birds of all species and sizes, laughing at what could only be him. Among them he spotted Hedwig and somehow he recognized her "voice".

And that brought on a whole new set of questions. How could he understand birdspeech? Why was he suddenly some sort of hybrid bird creature? How could the Loyalty Spell have this effect on him? Nothing he ever read or heard had ever mentioned something like this!

A memory flashed in his mind:

"_Well, there was the time of her induction in the Order, but I don't really understand that part. We overheard an argument between her and Snape about a potion on the Extendable Ears."_

"_Yes, I remember," George interrupted, "Something about blood based ingredients?"_

"_No, it was human based ingredients, I think. In the end Dumbledore had her go through an alternate procedure, though that wasn't clear. That's all we know, really," Fred said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically to Harry._

Blood based ingredients! The potion had been blood-based! Phoenix blood to be exact! And now some phoenix genes or whatever had fused with his own DNA and had transformed him in some sort of bird thing. It was awful!

And, at the same time, kind of cool. Already, he could see how his vision could be advantageous in a fight, and there were definitely uses for flying without a broom. As the though of flying under his own power crossed his mind he became awfully excited.

And as far as he could see, or feel, there wasn't any other outside sign of his transformation than his wings, so it wasn't bad at all. After all, he could have ended up with a beak or something!

Experimentally, he spread his wings. They were black, with golden feathers on the tips, and huge, easily two meters on each side. Well, he was a heavy bird. He snorted at the thought.

When he looked up, he saw a very small bird hovering near him. He could easily make out his squeaky and overly excited voice amongst the others.

"Come fly with us, man-bird! Come, come, up in the air!"

Well, it wasn't as if he didn't want to. He flapped his wings a few times, felt them catch in the air. He jumped and had a moment of elation as he hovered a moment… then glided head-first into the tree.

Luckily he didn't break anything except his pride. As most of the birds laughed at his expense, Hedwig landed beside him.

"You stopped flapping your wings, Bond-Wizard. You must not concentrate on them too much, just like you don't concentrate on your feet when you walk. Will it, Bond-Wizard, and you will fly," she explained in a pleasant voice.

Bond-Wizard… well that confirmed the fact that she was his familiar. His trust in her only amplified and he decided to follow her advice. It sounded good at least.

However, hearing it and doing it were two different things.

At the end of the day, after many, many bruises and even more bird laughing, he caught on and could be seen flying with his new companions. Not that there was anyone to see him. He was too far from the village and Voldemort had already left Riddle Mansion when Harry didn't show up at noon. But Harry didn't care at all. He totally forgot about it as he did the thing he loved most: flying.

After a half-hour's work, Harry had figured out a way to use his Metamorphmagi abilities to retract his wings. They were presently non-existent, the skin on his back as smooth as before, if only a little more muscled. It was a useful trick, since sleeping with wings wasn't the most comfortable thing to do.

°°°

Harry was now ascending the stairs to the second floor of Riddle Mansion. He had missed yesterday's meeting, so to speak, but probably Voldie was waiting anyway. He wouldn't give up now.

As he climbed the stairs, a foreboding shiver went through Harry's body. _Danger_.

Obviously, Voldie had another trick up his sleeve. Well, Harry would've been disappointed if he hadn't. After all, Voldemort was the most powerful Dark Lord of the century.

Harry stopped in the doorway of the usual room, wary of his surroundings.

"I thought I told you to come yesterday, Potter," said an annoyed Voldemort, his voice resonating through the old house.

Harry felt a surge of fury swell inside him at these words.

"I am not your servant, _Tom_," he replied menacingly, stepping into the room. "I am not come at your beck and call." With that he flicked his right wrist, unsheathing the wand hidden there. He couldn't harm Voldemort physically, but the Loyalty Spell had never said anything about hurting his pride. With a mischievous smile, he whispered an incantation and a bucket full of water appeared over Voldemort's head, spilling all over him.

Harry smiled at the sight of a dripping wet Voldemort. However, in doing so, he dropped his guard.

Grave mistake.

Never one to let an opportunity slip by, Rodolphus Lestrange used Harry's moment of distraction to cast the killing curse.

Harry only barely registered the presence of the Death Eater hidden on his left side. The powerful green light of the Killing Curse slammed into him and he crashed in the wall on his right. He dropped to the floor in a tumbled heap, looking very dead.

(A/N: I'm tempted to leave it there, but that would be exceedingly cruel.)

But he was not. He had the breath knocked out of him, all his joints ached and his heart was throbbing painfully, but he was still alive. He felt the curse trying to stop his vital functions and rip his soul away, but something had stopped it, leaving him weak but alive.

It was one of those moments when a surge of adrenaline makes everything crystal clear. Thought processes speed up impossibly and every detail is analyzed. It took only a fraction of a second for Harry to realize that he had just survived the Killing Curse for the second time. The question was why.

It could be another side effect of his transformation, but he doubted that. Phoenixes burned up and were reborn in their ashes when they died and this was not what was happening.

The second and more probable possibility was that this was linked to the Prophecy. The Prophecy was worded in a way that suggested that Voldemort was the only one who could kill him. Rodolphus had failed, so there could be something there.

Then again, maybe he was just immune to it. He didn't really want to think about how close to immortality he was.

His musings were cut short as Lestrange spoke up.

"That was too easy. Why didn't you do this before, my Lord?" he said, looking at Harry, who still hadn't breathed. Voldemort answered him after casting a drying charm on himself.

"I do not know all the contents of the Prophecy, Rodolphus. Potter has evaded me too many times for it to be mere luck. There was something else at work there and I preferred to be more cautious this time around, thus the Loyalty Spell to protect me from any backlash. He fell into the trap I set. Though, I must admit, I have never seen the Avada Kedavra act in such a way."

"Indeed, Master. I have never seen a victim being propelled like that. But he sure looks dead now," Lestrange replied, crouching beside Harry's body, dangerously close.

Harry saw, or rather felt his chance (his eyes were closed), and reacted like lightning. He snapped his eyes open and brought his arm around the Death Eater's neck, while his right arm grabbed the smallest of the Dark Daggers hidden in his lower back. He had never used that one and he sensed it was special.

Before anyone could blink, Harry was facing Voldemort on his feet, his dagger plunged between two ribs straight into Lestrange's heart. Power surged through the knife and up Harry's arm, replenishing the energy he had lost fighting the Killing Curse and more.

Voldemort, shocked by Harry's sudden resuscitation, was not shielding his mind quite enough. Any other Legilimens would still have had much difficulty, but Harry had a VIP link into Voldemort's head. Harry did not hesitate and using the power the knife was giving him, plunged into the half insane mind of the Dark Lord.

He took everything; every memory, every image, every scrap of knowledge and made it his. He put it in his own mind, using Occlumency to keep it separate from himself, at least for now. There would be time to assimilate later.

All this happened in less than an instant; Tom Riddle's whole mind was imprinted in Harry's. However, no matter how much power the knife provided, Harry couldn't harm Voldemort's mind because of the Loyalty Spell, only read it and copy it.

As soon as it was over, Harry retreated in his own head and brought up the strongest mind shields he could to prevent any retaliation.

It was unnecessary. Voldemort was in no state to strike back. He was obviously very disorientated, which was not surprising after having his mind raped. Unfortunately, Harry could not take advantage of his state of weakness, again because of the Loyalty Spell. It was quite all-encompassing.

The Dark Lord Dissaparated as soon as he could; but Harry wouldn't be surprised if he had splinched himself in the process.

Still holding Lestrange's now dead body, he wrenched the knife out. It flared with power and the Death Eater's corpse collapsed in ashes. The Dark Dagger had taken all his magical and life energy, not even leaving enough for the molecules to hold together.

Seeing no use to dawdle any longer, Harry hurried back to his temporary shelter in the forest. The information he had stolen from his enemy's mind was partially sentient and wanted to make itself known. It wanted to spread out in his mind, but Harry knew that if he let that happen, it would completely overwhelm him.

He needed to take care of it as soon as possible, and he wanted to be assured of his safety as he did it. He had no time to spare thinking about the Dark Lord's very predictable betrayal. So much for lessons, though he might not need them anymore.

After a hurried walk of a few minutes, Harry reached his goal. He lost no time undressing and crawled into his uncomfortable but strongly warded trunk. He locked himself in, making sure it was secure, before letting himself fall into a state between unconsciousness and meditation where he could safely analyze Voldemort's mind-copy.

TBC

A/N: I just had to drop a bucket on water on Voldie! I've that idea in my mind for weeks now. I challenge you other writers to fit it in your fic. Let me know if you do!

Hehehe.


	15. Interlude

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 14: Interlude

"We used all the tests that exist and the only two wizards powerful enough to overcome Officer Moraine's resistance to the Imperius curse are Dumbledore and Voldemort," Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt told the assembled Order of the Phoenix.

"So the logical conclusion would be that You-Know-Who broke his followers out himself?" asked Molly Weasley.

"There is the hic," answered Shacklebolt. "The wand used was indeed Voldemort's, but the magical signature left in the area presents significant differences with the aura we analyzed in the Ministry last June."

"Besides," continued Dumbledore, "The breakout was not done according to Tom's usual manner. Voldemort tends to kill those not of use to him, yet Officer Moraine was only stunned. This information leads to the disturbing notion that someone else is helping the Dark Lord, someone powerful _and_ compatible with his wand… The question is, who is it?"

"I can answer that question," came Severus Snape's weary voice. He strode in the kitchen of the Phoenix Headquarters and poured himself some much needed Firewhiskey before turning to face the curious crowd. Most of the Order was there, as this was an extended meeting. The Potion Master continued: "However, the identity of this person is not only deeply disturbing, it also comes with many questions." Some of what was obviously worry broke through Snape's usually frigid demeanour.

"So your last visit has been informative. Tell us, Severus. Who is it?" The Headmaster had an impatient air about him, something that was rarely seen. His apprehension was palpable. If his spy was worried, the situation had to be bad indeed.

Snape gulped down his Firewhiskey before answering: "Harry Potter."

There was a shocked silence followed by chaotic exclamations of disbelief, each member trying to be heard over the others. Even Dumbledore was speechless for a moment. Finally he gathered himself and silenced everyone else with a loud BANG of his wand.

"Are you sure, Severus?" he asked once everyone was as settled as they could be.

"Yes, every source concurs. All the Death Eaters are talking about the Boy-Who-Lived breaking them out of Azkaban. I couldn't believe it myself, but all the evidence is there." He looked defiantly at his audience, daring them to object.

One did: "But Harry would never join Voldemort," said Remus piteously, looking more worn out than ever.

Snape threw him a piercing look. "That is where the questions come in. As far as I know, and I know enough, Potter did not join the Dark Lord. It was a transaction of some sort. Evidently, only the Dark Lord and Potter know the exact terms of this exchange. However, their partnership, if it can be called such, turned sour. Rumours say the Dark Lord tried to double-cross Potter and kill him, but it was Rodolphus Lestrange who paid the price." Snape seemed torn between glee at Lestrange's death and resentment at the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived was so powerful.

"What do you mean Lestrange paid the price?" threw in ex-Auror Alastor Moody.

"He's dead. Potter killed him, I believe."

"What? You must be kidding! Harry would never do such a thing!" exclaimed Molly.

"Could you bring me the body to test it?" asked Shacklebolt, always rational.

"No, I could not." Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Why not?"

"Because there is no body to test. Only a bit of cinder, and it has probably been dispersed already. I do not know what happened, but it was bad enough to shake the Dark Lord. He refuses to speak about it. I think your only chance to find answers is to find the brat."

Dumbledore looked uneasy, but still took action. "Do you have any leads on where Harry could be?" he asked his spy.

"The only information I can give you is that he was in Little Hangleton a few days ago."

"Then we will begin there…"

°°°°°°

Colors, sounds, shapes, heat, smells, taste, cold, darkness and light all blended together in a maelstrom of confusion. No sense of space, no sense of time, only the everything and the nothing that was here, and here was nowhere. Indescribable feelings turned and flew around chaotically while all senses were standing still. Or maybe it was the other way around. Impossible to tell in this area beyond physicality where dwelled unordered information in its purest form.

An eternity passed in a nanosecond and a nanosecond lasted an eternity before Harry finally recovered his sense of self and finally centred and anchored himself in the chaos he usually called his mind. He remembered his goal and started sifting through his thoughts and those that were foreign. It was these foreign thoughts, those he had stolen from Voldemort, that had caused this chaos within his psyche in the first place. And now he had to order them before they drove him to insanity. This was Occlumency at its highest level and his control and ability was shaky and rough at best. He had no choice but to learn fast, though. He couldn't doubt himself, or his control would snap and his sanity would be destroyed.

He started by returning his own thoughts and memories back to where they belonged. They had been roused by Voldemort's mind-copy, magnifying the confusion that was caused by the presence of the mind-copy alone. One by one he picked them apart, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence, easily recognizing what belonged to him by the familiarity. He placed them back in their "files" or "compartments", that being the closest analogy possible. This explanation was to be taken widely, however, as these spaces continuously overlapped each other. One's mind was not something that could be described in mundane terms.

This first task was soon completed, though this was a relative assumption because time had no meaning in this state. His own thoughts obeyed Harry easily as they seemed eager to return to their ordered condition. He now had all of his faculties back and felt much more confident. He could now start sorting through the Dark Lord's mind, still dancing haphazardly around.

As he "looked" closer, he noticed something very strange. Amongst Voldemort's thoughts and memories he could sense other entities. One of them was the dreams and the knowledge of the Unforgivables Voldemort had implanted during the possession in June. Harry recognized Voldemort's "flavour", even though his own mind had assimilated them and dulled the Dark Lord's magical signature. The dreams he destroyed; maybe one day he would manage a peaceful slumber. The knowledge he kept. It would come in useful in the future, he was certain.

As he continued his examination he noticed there were two completely different signatures hanging around, and they definitely did not origin from Voldemort or himself. They did not seem threatening right now so Harry decided to take care of Voldemort first. Besides, the traces of assimilation on them indicated they had been there for a while.

He reached for the earliest memory of Tom Riddle, having come to the conclusion that a chronological approach would be wisest. Understanding comes easier when there is context, and context is found in history.

As he slowly worked his way through Tom's childhood years, analyzing the memories and filing them in an untouched part of his brain, he realized how similar both their lives were.

The orphanage in which Tom grew up was a dark and loveless place. The children were not children, but charges, things to take care of by obligation. The kids all slept in the same cold room and the clothes and food were the strict minimum for survival. The children had to cook their own food, that is, if they were allowed on that particular day, and clean the place themselves. There was of course the occasional beating when they did not work to the satisfaction of the matrons.

Most of the children found comfort in each other, but not Tom. He was the outcast, the freak. No one wanted to stay close to him for too long. Everyone knew strange things happened around him. Besides, he was particularly hated by the master of the place and no one wanted to suffer because of association with him.

The years passed with Tom's treatment getting progressively worse as he got older. His bursts of accidental magic grew in frequency and in power, warranting more isolation and beatings. Through the insults thrown at him, he learned that his father had abandoned his mother for some obscure reason and that she had died giving him birth. This led him to blame everything on his father. It gave him a focus for his anger and made going through the day easier, albeit slightly.

Then, at eleven, he received his Hogwarts letter. His first glimpse of the magical world gave him hope of a better life. A hope that was to be shattered.

Hogwarts had been Harry's salvation. There, he found friends, people who cared about him. It hadn't been all nice –his fame was notoriously difficult to deal with –but Hogwarts had given him the love and the acceptance he had needed.

Hogwarts had, in Tom's case, been his downfall. He was shunned by his fellow Slytherins because of his blood, and shunned by the rest of the school because he was Slytherin.

Rejected by his peers, he buried himself in books and knowledge and encountered the Dark Arts. At first it was just innocent curiosity, spurred by the discovery of being the descendent of the Dark Wizard Salazar Slytherin, but the intoxication of casting a Dark Spell soon became an addiction, and that addiction soon skewered his judgement. His hate towards his father and towards the orphanage spread to all that was muggle, and his failure to be accepted by his peers mutated in a determination to be feared as their superior.

The change was gradual and became irreversible once he made his first kill through Salazar's Basilisk. The fact that he was never caught only added to his belief that he was superior.

He was not careless, however. He recognized Dumbledore as a threat and wisely kept a low profile during his last Hogwarts years.

Once he left Dumbledore's supervision, he dropped fast and deep into the Dark Arts. He was entirely corrupted by his hate and his illusions. The night he killed his father cemented his madness, making him irredeemable.

At the same time, he realized he was not yet unstoppable. He, too, could be killed by an _Avada Kedavra_ or a knife in his chest.

Thus began his quest for immortality.

The following years were a succession of Dark Arts mentors and rituals aiming for immortality, most of them being failures. At the same time, the new Dark Lord started collecting followers and torturing Muggles. Both just because he could, just to affirm and confirm his superiority. His Mark and his name became feared, spreading terror until he met a green-eyed baby.

At this point Harry hesitated. On one hand, he was terribly afraid of seeing this memory, of seeing his parents die. Especially since he would be seeing from the murderer's point of view, feeling his emotions of joy. On the other hand, there could be the key to defeating the Dark Lord. By knowing why he had survived Harry could find out how to destroy him for good. He couldn't let such an opportunity pass because he was afraid.

In the end his sense of duty prevailed, aided by a bit of morbid curiosity.

The memory did not tell him much that he hadn't figured out on his own. Both his parents died bravely, albeit instantly. However, when Voldemort's body was destroyed by the reflected Killing Curse, Harry knew exactly what had kept Voldemort earthbound.

The Dark Mark.

The Mark linked him to his followers, and his followers were bound in flesh. Therefore, Voldemort could not leave this world and go into the next. The Curse did kill him, he hadn't found a way to immunize himself, but his soul, mind and spirit were earthbound. He was less than a ghost, but he continued to exist in this plane.

The next thirteen years of memories were broken, bits and pieces of images and sound without any sense. Most of the time the Dark Lord had no body to support his essence, and even when he did, the animals he used could not support complex thoughts. So Harry got very little information from this period. The only memory dense enough to be noted was Quirrell's possession, but it was of no use. Besides being confusing mixed perceptions, that attempt at immortality had been a complete failure for the Dark Lord.

Voldemort only regained a rational mind in the body Wormtail created with unicorn blood and Nagini's venom. It wasn't human, but it was able to support the complexity of a human mind. With these memories, Harry was able to fill in the blanks in the series of events which led to the Dark Lord's rebirth.

Not much there was useful, but he gained priceless knowledge about the ritual that brought Voldemort back in flesh.

Through the memories he had glimpsed yet, Harry had extracted Tom Riddle's knowledge of magic to use as his own. Potions, spells, charms and multiple theories; Harry took everything. Anything could be used as a weapon and weapons were what he needed in this fight.

He wasn't going to fall for the Dark Lord's tricks again, and that meant knowing exactly who he was facing. Knowing his history gave Harry an inside look of Voldemort's personality.

With that thought in mind Harry finished examining the memories of the last year. They were relatively boring, seeing how Voldemort had spent most of it biding his time.

The last month, on the other hand, was quite interesting. It was hard proof that Voldemort had planned to have him killed since the very beginning. The Loyalty Spell had only been a safeguard. He didn't want a repeat of the failed Killing Curse.

Well, now Harry knew all of the Slytherin's tricks, and it was time Voldemort had a taste of his own medicine. It wouldn't be easy, and he might get burned in the process, but he would do it.

Finally, he was finished ordering what he had stolen from Voldemort's mind. Strangely, he did not feel tired after such work. Then again, there was no sense of time here, so it followed logically that there wasn't any exhaustion either.

So he turned his attention to the two foreign signatures he had noticed earlier.

He started with the most recent one. Examining it, he realized it was far from human in nature, but it was highly magical. When he finally threw himself into it, he realized that this was actually instinctive phoenix knowledge, a by-product of his potion mishap. It was biologically subconscious. In other words, Harry could not understand or use it consciously. From the little he managed to gleam, he knew the mechanisms for flying were somewhere in there. Reassured as to its nature, he coaxed it to return to the "spot" it had originally claimed for itself, deep in his subconscious.

The second one was even more puzzling. Not only was it not human, it wasn't even alive. It was, however, undeniably sentient. What really puzzled Harry was the link he sensed. The entity, or whatever it was, was tied to a physical object.

Another strange thing was the way it stretched, touching many layers of Harry's mind, like an intricate web with an obscure purpose.

Wary of this alien presence, he played it safe and started by observing how this sentient being influenced him.

Its first objective seemed to be erasing all of Harry's inhibitions. Well, that explained why he had been so reckless lately. And why he felt no remorse about his kills. All that would keep him from doing what he desired was locked away by this entity.

The second thing it was doing influenced him physically. It was actually instructing his muscles to develop, as well as enhancing his sense of balance. The process wasn't instantaneous, but he would have noticed the effects if he had been paying attention to his body. _Good, _Harry thought, _this will be useful._

Harry really warmed up towards this being once he saw the next thing it was doing. It was working in the grey area between his conscious and subconscious thoughts, teaching him, so to speak, how to fight. No wonder he used his daggers so easily.

Suddenly he knew exactly what this sentient being was. It obviously was the Dark Daggers themselves! But why would it influence him like that?

As if they had heard him, he perceived the answer. _We want blood… anything for blood…_

The first thought that went through Harry's mind was: _Well what do you expect from Vampiric Weapons?_ Then he realized why these weapons had chosen _him_ and not a vampire. The latter would keep the blood for themselves, while Harry had no interest in it, only interest in killing itself, either in defence or in vengeance.

For now the daggers were actually helping him, so he left everything intact. However, he was going to monitor it closely. He had no interest in becoming a mindless killer, and eventually that was the Dark Daggers' goal. They were sentient, yes, but they were simple-minded and entirely focused on their desires.

Harry was about to let go and return to the waking world when something jarred him. He was pulled into the connection he shared with the Dark Lord. It was not surprising. He had been using active Occlumency for a while and he needed rest, real mental rest. Conserving his energy, he did not resist the pull. Instead, he focused on being as unobtrusive as possible, hoping the Dark Lord would not notice him.

The images came in a rush and nearly blinded him. It was a battle, a battle against the Order of the Phoenix. It was a good thing Voldemort's head was known terrain to him. It made hiding, but also getting information, easier. As the Dark Lord was occupied with the fight, Harry looked at what had happened since he had retired in his own mind.

He was surprised when he realized it had been over a week since he had raped Voldemort's mind. Had it really taken that long to sort through the memories?

Even so, that week had been uneventful. Voldemort had been quite shaken, Harry realized with glee. Trying to get past that event, he had organized a Muggle torture raid in Little Hangleton itself, which is where he was now. But, they had stumbled on the Order and this was now an intense battle.

Harry's attention was brought back to the battle as he saw one of the fighters of the Order fall to the Death Eaters. It was one he recognized, one he loved. Remus Lupin.

Voldemort ordered a strategic retreat. He had a hostage now, and that could be quite useful. Not to mention entertaining. As he Apparated back to his stronghold, he noticed Harry in his mind and vehemently cast him out. Amongst the strength of the push, there was a strong sense of surprise.

Harry woke up abruptly, back in the waking world, in his trunk, with only one thought in mind: He had to save Remus!

TBC


	16. The Rescue

Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 15: The Rescue

Harry was crouched amongst the low vegetation. Nothing particular marked the spot, but Harry was there for a very specific reason: exactly one meter in front of him was the edge of Voldemort's secrecy wards.

These wards hid Voldemort's main fortress. This was surely where Remus was being held. One thing was absolutely certain: if the pain in his scar was anything to go by, Voldemort was here. And Voldemort would be enjoying torturing his latest prisoner. Not that he could touch Remus directly, thanks to the Loyalty Spell.

Harry was still mentally exhausted and his Occlumency walls weren't as strong as he would have wanted. It was risky going inside in this state, but he wasn't going to let another of his loved ones die if he could help it.

To be perfectly honest, though, Harry wasn't faring much better physically. A week without food had taken its toll. That was why he had used Sirius' noisy motorbike instead of taking the opportunity to fly with his own wings. Besides, he wasn't sure if he had the stamina to last for long flights yet, even in top condition.

Basically, he had woken up quite starved. His magic had taken care of his needs, but it could only do so much. So he had hurriedly packed everything and set off in search of food. Once fed, he had nullified the tracking and weakening charms on his wand. He couldn't believe he had been naïve enough to trust Voldemort with his wand! It was lucky he had used it only once in Voldemort's presence or else the Dark Lord would have been able to find his little camp. Not to mention the weakening charm was set to worsen with each use.

_Never again_, Harry swore. Now he had knowledge, both of magic and of his enemy, and the last fortnight had given him the ruthlessness necessary to fight. He was going to bring Voldemort down, prophecy or not.

That, however, was for another day. Today, he would stick to saving Remus.

The fortress was hidden by two simple wards. The wards themselves were not very powerful. They were there for secrecy. Powerful defensive wards like those used at Hogwarts were easily detectable, a fact which defeated the purpose of hiding. For this fortress, Voldemort had used an invisibility ward as well as an alert charm. In other words, once Harry stepped through, he would be able to see the building, but the Dark Lord would instantly be alerted to his presence.

Thanks to the memories, Harry knew that Voldemort had toyed with the idea of using the Fidelius Spell, but had discarded it later for practical reasons. This way, none of his followers knew the location of the fortress. The only way they could enter was through a Dark Mark summoning or a Portkey, the latter useful for new recruits.

This was proof that complex security wasn't always the best choice. Harry had absolutely no way to get in without being detected. Whether he took the wards down or simply walked through, Voldemort was going to be notified.

This left one option. He had to act quickly. Very quickly. His arrival would be unexpected and he had to leave his enemies as little time to react as possible.

And to manage that, he needed energy.

He slowly drew out the smallest dagger of the set. His magical reserves were weak and he needed the boost the knife could provide.

That meant he had to kill. The ease that accompanied his decision scared him. The Dark Daggers had much more influence on his thoughts than he initially believed if he could take such a decision without batting an eyelid. A month ago he would never have condoned such an action, yet now he was taking the initiative himself. Nothing pressured him to do so. The knives suppressed his inhibitions; they did not give him the desire to kill.

Yet there it was. It used to be buried in his subconscious but now he was entirely conscious of this desire. He had no choice but to acknowledge it and recognize the fact that it wasn't right.

Unfortunately, in war, what one had to do was never all white. Shades of grey were much more prominent, and in this case, Harry chose to kill in order to save one he loved.

His resolve strengthened and he focused on the task at hand. Because of the complete assimilation of Voldemort's mind, Harry knew the layout of the fortress as if he had built it, which was a great advantage. On the other hand, he had no idea how many Death Eaters would be present besides the Dark Lord. That was the major flaw in his plan. Not that he had much of a plan at all.

Then again, no one knew he was here. Voldemort knew he was alive, but he wouldn't expect Harry to be in any state to attempt a rescue. Harry needed to play that advantage fully.

Securing his hold on his weapon, Harry leapt forward. As soon as he passed the wards the imposing fortress materialized in front of him. It didn't come close to Hogwarts castle, but it was still quite remarkable.

With no one outside Harry was free to sprint straight to the front door. Going through a window would be both impractical and too long. The front door was much quicker and usually unexpected.

Once inside what could be called the Entrance Hall, he ran in the hallway to his right, hiding behind the third tapestry which concealed a depression meant for this purpose. This was the hallway leading to the dungeons, where Lupin was undoubtedly being held.

The tapestry had barely settled over him when he heard running coming in his direction. Of course, Voldemort would send his minions to do the dirty work. Concentrating, Harry could make out at least two sets of feet, maybe three. It was hard to make out with the echo caused by the stone.

Harry let them pass before quietly stepping out of his hiding place. There were indeed three of them, and Harry heard one of them speaking:

"Nott, circle around the East side. Mulciber, take the West side. I'll stay here and watch the Northern boundary."

The two addressed ran outside leaving the third one vulnerable. Or as vulnerable as a Death Eater could be.

Harry crept back towards the Entrance Hall, ignoring the weakness that the last week had caused. The Death Eater, who Harry had recognized as Avery, was dutifully scanning the grounds.

Once Harry reached the edge of concealing shadows, he leapt towards Avery intending to attack him before the Death Eater could react.

However, Avery was surprisingly fast. Harry had barely taken two steps when he was suddenly banished into a wall. Pain washed through him as he dropped face first to the floor, but he managed to hold on to his dagger. Or the dagger held on to him, depending on how you looked at it.

Harry stayed very still, trying to make the ringing in his head stop. As it subsided lightly, he opened his eyes slightly and saw Avery approach out of the corner of his eye, his wand ready. Harry didn't move, hoping the Death Eater would think him knocked out cold. It seemed to work, though Avery remained wary.

Harry stayed limp when a brutal foot turned him over, though he could not hold back a moan. It wasn't heard since Avery gasped "POTTER!" at the exact same time.

Harry saw his chance and took it, taking advantage of Avery's stunned appearance. Unfortunately, he had hit the wall harder than he thought and he was still reeling from the blow. His aim was off and the short dagger slid on the side of his adversary's throat, making a slight cut over the carotid.

Blood sprayed out and Avery slapped his free hand over the wound, giving Harry time to recover from his failed lunge. The blood that covered the blade was absorbed and Harry felt a small amount of power transferred to him, eliminating the last of his dizziness…

…just in time to duck a jet of green light sent at his head. He used his momentum to roll over towards Avery and in the same movement that brought him back to his feet, plunged the dagger just below Avery's solar plexus at an upwards angle.

Power exploded through his veins. It was a torrent, filling him, dissolving him. This time he was able to enjoy it, enjoy the feeling of pure, raw energy flowing through him, healing his fresh bruises, healing the damage a week with no sustenance had wrought. It did more than simply heal; it improved his overall condition, physically, mentally and magically. It seemed to stretch him, letting him absorb even more. He was intoxicated by the power, forgetting the reason this was happening in the first place, forgetting his own name.

Eventually the flow of power subsided and Harry came back to himself. He put his knife away and took a deep breath trying to centre himself in the still overpowering flow of energy inside him.

He snapped out of his semi-trance when the two other Death Eaters ran back inside the fortress. Their surprise when they saw him was a fatal mistake, just as it had been Avery's. Harry didn't hesitate and flicked his left wrist, freeing one of his throwing daggers. As he threw it towards his opponents, he noticed it was pulsing with a blood-red glow in time with his heart.

Then Mulciber's chest exploded. The knife, moving faster than the eye could follow, had gone straight through the Death Eater's body emerging out of his back with blood, flesh and bone.

Harry stared, shocked at the violence of the death. He was soon jolted back to reality when Nott started screaming curses, both magical and verbal. Obviously, he was used to violent deaths and had recovered more quickly.

He dodged the jets of light while flicking his wrist to free his wand. But he was far from Nott's level at duelling. He was desperately trying to defend himself against the barrage of lethal curses, never having enough of a break to try to strike with one of his blades. He was still energized but he didn't want to waste that energy wearing out Nott. He needed some left to save Remus. Besides he couldn't risk reinforcements arriving.

A memory surfaced, one of his own… an image of a Dark Dagger flying back to his hand after he had thrown it.

Continuing to dodge and deflect curses, Harry focused on the knife that was probably lying outside somewhere. Less than five seconds later, Nott's attack abruptly stopped and he collapsed, letting Harry see the knife deeply buried in his back.

Harry walked over warily, not letting his guard down until he was sure his opponent was dead. Once that absence of breathing had reassured him, he wrenched the knife out, a difficult task since the hilt was partially inside the body, stuck between two cracked ribs.

So the energy he stole from lives, as powerful as it was, was only short-lived. He had destroyed Mulciber's chest, yet the knife had not hit Nott with nearly as much strength. One more reason to finish this quickly.

Harry took one last look at the bodies. He had come here intending to end one life to save another. He had already killed three men and Remus was still in danger.

Even more disturbing was the Dark Daggers' satisfaction that echoed through him as they fed on yet more blood.

Ignoring it as much as he could, Harry turned and ran back towards the dungeons. He lowered his Occlumency walls and guided himself using the pain in his scar. If Remus was being tortured, which was likely, Voldemort would probably be watching.

As he approached his goal, he began hearing the laughs and the jeers of sick men enjoying hurting others. It seemed they had forgotten they had an intruder. Well, the intruder himself would remind them.

Voldemort looked at the half-breed screaming in agony, a smile of satisfaction on his lips. He was disappointed that he couldn't participate, though he still enjoyed the performance. The damned werewolf was still under Potter's protection via the Loyalty Spell, nullifying any attack the Dark Lord tried. That, along with the intrusion he had felt a few hours back, proved the brat was still alive.

Alive, yes, but what state would he be in? Only the most experienced Occlumens could survive a mind assimilation and barely half of them survived with both their lives and sanity intact. And those who did survive usually did by aborting the process and rejecting the foreign mind. So either Potter was insane or he had rejected the information he had stolen. Either way he wasn't a threat for now.

And so Voldemort made the same mistake over again: he underestimated Harry Potter.

When the wards alerted him to an intruder, Voldemort wasn't too worried. The signal that had breached them was weak, so whatever was there was weak or exhausted; not much of a threat. So he sent three of his servants to deal with the annoyance and then returned to enjoying the scene before him.

Remus Lupin was resistant, that much was certain. They had been torturing him for over an hour and he hadn't cracked yet. Of course he could have used veritaserum, but Snape didn't have any handy and besides, this way was much more fun.

In fact the only way it could be more fun was if the Dark Lord had access to his mind to use the half-breed's fear against him, but werewolves were instinctively resistant to mind control. That meant the Death Eaters could give free rein to their creativity.

The werewolf was chained to the ceiling; the shackles around his wrists were designed in a way that made them bite into the flesh and cut circulation as more weight pulled them down. Somewhere around forty minutes ago, someone had sent a Bone Shattering curse at the werewolf's legs and he had lost the ability to stand upright. His hands were now unrecognizable swollen protuberances of sickly coloured blue-black flesh.

As horrible as his hands were, the rest of his body was much worse. His legs were badly deformed, lumpy and cut where bones had pierced the skin. Little rivulets of blood contrasted against the dark purple colouring of dying flesh.

The skin over his back was marred with muscle deep lashes saturated with different coloured pain potions. The skin over his chest had been ripped off, strip by strip, to reveal the whiteness of his ribs, most broken, as well as the occasional glimpse of pink lung.

His arms had been hit with different varieties of the Acid Curse, dissolving his skin and exposing his muscles to the damp dungeon air. The Death Eaters were currently enjoying cutting the tendons one by one, between two short but intense Crucios.

Of course, all this is done with the artful precision that brings a maximum of pain while keeping the victim alive and conscious. Right now, this victim was so lost in the pain he was barley aware of anything else. The fact that this was a werewolf only gave them more leeway in their cruelty before he succumbed.

As the Dark Lord gazed over his followers, he realized the three he had sent to investigate the alarm had not yet returned.

"Where are those damned idiots?" He hissed loudly.

"My guess would be Hell," answered a voice by the door. It was a voice the Dark Lord had heard before. But it was different. It had an edge to it that had never been there before.

As one, all the Death Eaters turned to the figure cloaked in the shadows. As he stepped into the torchlight, they recognized a strangely changed Boy-Who-Lived holding twin swords.

The change in the boy, no, man, wasn't just physical, though there were differences. It was in the way he held himself, head high, with a quiet confidence that put their nerves on edge. The aura and the attitude that radiated off him was one of danger. This wasn't the act he had tried to hold in front of the Dark Lord some weeks ago. No, this was quite real.

"I gave your minions a one-way trip to Hell, so I guess that's where their hanging out now," he continued, calmly surveying the room. A flash of overwhelming rage shone through his eyes when he looked at the mangled body that was Remus, but contrary to the Harry of the past, he kept control and stayed where he was, entirely focused.

During the long silence that followed, Harry came to the conclusion that Snape wasn't in the room. So the Order had abandoned its member. A part of him wanted to scream and shout injustice while the other understood the notion of sacrifice for the survival of the group. He put that conflict in the back of his mind, focusing on the difficult task of dealing with the Dark Lord without getting screwed over again.

Finally, Voldemort stepped forward lightly. He was dumbfounded, flabbergasted, astonished and shocked, but, as the worthy Heir of Slytherin, he hid it very well. Potter was sane, Potter was here and Potter had just killed three of his most powerful servants without even a scratch. And all that while he was, according to his wards, exhausted! What had happened up there? And more importantly, what had happened to Potter?

"I must congratulate you on retaining your sanity Potter. That is quite an astounding feat." The only sign that the Dark Lord was frantic was the exaggerated hiss in which he spoke.

"Sane?" answered Harry, "I don't think walking around with your mind inside my head meets the criteria of sanity."

"IMPOSSIBLE!" screeched the Dark Lord. He mentally berated himself for his outburst when he saw the smirk the brat was wearing.

"How else would I know about this place, hmmm?" Harry replied, slightly amused despite the situation.

Voldemort raised his wand, planning to curse into oblivion the boy that had been the bane of his existence since he had heard of the prophecy.

"That won't work, you know. Besides, I'm only here to pick up my friend Remus. There's no need for violence." Harry was walking a fine and dangerous line here. He needed to goad the Dark Lord and keep him unbalanced, keep him from thinking straight without pushing him far enough to order Remus killed. There were many Death Eaters in the dungeon cell, too many for him to take on, especially with the state he was in. His energy was rapidly fading and Remus didn't have long to live.

"Then let me remind you that your swords, even if you somehow manage to use them without hurting yourself, will not work against me either!" spat Voldemort.

"Who said I was intending to hurt you?" replied Harry. °Like chess players, we cannot hurt each other directly. We use pawns, whether they are aware of it or not. Kill mine and I destroy yours° he continued, hissing.

°Indeed. So you seek to make this a stand-off? Do you not realize I could ask one of my servants to kill you? Hardly a stand-off at all!° Voldemort replied in the same language.

Harry laughed, confusing the attentive Death Eaters even more. What was this? The Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived conversing in Parseltongue and laughing?

"Tom," Harry resumed speaking once his laughter had subsided, "You already tried that trick once before. I hope you haven't forgotten how effective that was. Avada Kedavra doesn't work on me, as you should have figured out by now."

Just as Harry expected, a jet of green light immediately headed in his direction, coming from the far corner of the room. If he remembered well, that was where Bellatrix was standing earlier. Remembering the pain that had accompanied last time, he was reluctant to let himself be hit again, but was fully aware of the unsettling effect his survival would cause. The Death Eaters would doubt themselves and he could take advantage of that uneasiness.

The curse hit him and a pain worse than the Cruciatus burned through him. Before he even had time to scream, it dissipated, leaving him shaken but unharmed. Last time, the pain had lasted much longer. Maybe being ready for it made it easier to deal with. Or maybe his body was getting used to it, you never know.

Anyway, Harry had achieved his goal. The Death Eaters were flabbergasted and, yes, that was the shadow of fear in their eyes.

_Good_, Harry thought, turning back to Voldemort. If worse came to pass and he had to fight his way out, he now had the advantage of fear. But fighting his way out meant sacrificing Remus, the last link to his parents, one of the few people he loved and helped keep the darkness in him at bay.

The Dark Lord seemed to have regained his footing and looked quite pensive. Harry had expected him to rage, not think. This was not good. This was not good at all.

"Fine" Voldemort said, "You've made your point. But if I give you your werewolf back, what would I get in return? Don't tell me you won't kill my Death Eaters. That is not only hardly believable, it is not enough. If I give you our… source of information on the Order of the Phoenix… and also source of entertainment… then you must give me something equivalent in value."

Damn that Slytherin cunning! Always one to get the best out of any situation. So much for hoping this to be easy.

"And what would "equivalent in value" be?" Harry growled. He was going to be screwed over. Again. He just knew it.

The Dark Lord seemed to think before replying with a smirk: "How about a Wizard's Oath not to harm my servants in any way?"

"That hardly seems fair, nor equivalent!" Harry replied, incensed. Voldemort looked at him expectantly.

_He wants me to make a counter-offer_, Harry realized. _What offer could I make? What can I afford to offer?_

Finally, after a furious brainstorming, he announced, articulating carefully: "If you let Remus leave with me, I'll swear a Wizard's Oath to protect all your servants attending Hogwarts." It killed him to say that, but it was the only thing he could think of to save Remus. It had to be something that had enough worth for Voldemort to accept. There was always the possibility that he might convert a few of them. Maybe. But he was willing to go that far, and further, to save his surrogate uncle.

There was a long silence, only broken by the sounds of Lupin's ragged breathing. Voldemort and Harry had their gazes locked, each of them trying to stare down the other. This wasn't a battle of minds; this was a battle of wills.

Finally Voldemort conceded. "That is acceptable. Make your Oath."

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. A Wizard's Oath was one of the most binding magic there was. The person who broke one would die, painfully. Harry hoped his amazing luck would help him get through this one. If any of those under his "protection" died, he would die as well.

Staring straight at Voldemort, Harry recited the Oath that would save one of those few people he trusted and loved.

"I swear, on my magic and on my life, that if you let Remus Lupin leave with me without harming him any further, I will protect those loyal to you which are attending Hogwarts from those who work against you."

The wording was very important. A loophole or a flaw could be fatal. As Harry felt the binding magic working, he desperately hoped he had covered everything.

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. He signalled his servants to back off. Bellatrix looked particularly disappointed.

Harry headed towards Lupin, willing his right sword back into its dagger size. He slipped it into his boot and brought out his wand.

"Staseum," he whispered, bringing Remus in a state where none of his injuries would worsen. He followed with a Mobilicorpus, easing the pressure on the werewolf's wrists.

With a ferocious slash that made the Death Eaters start, he cut the chains that were holding his friend. Ignoring them, Harry picked up the chains he had just cut and turned them into a Portkey. He had never learned to do so yet had the memories of doing it innumerable times.

He looked one last time at the creature that had destroyed his life before it had even begun before disappearing, leaving a thoughtful Dark Lord behind.

TBC


End file.
